


A World Of Impossibilities

by BleedingInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fairy Tale Logic, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his father happens upon a magical castle ruled by a Beast and angers her, Castiel Milton decides to take his place as the Beast's prisoner to save his life. He is resigned to his fate, but as time passes, he finds out the Beast keeps many secrets, and perhaps she is not as monstrous as she seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a princess in a beautiful castle. Her hair was black as the night, and she had everything her heart could desire._

_Her father, the king, organized a ball for her eighteenth birthday, and princes from all corners of the earth turned up, for the princess’ beauty was legendary. She wore a silver gown as bright as the moon for the evening and the ball was one as the land had never seen before. The delicacies served at the table were the work of seven world-famous chefs, and the most skillful musicians filled the air with the sweetest melodies._

_And so, as the night progressed, the princess danced and laughed with all the princes, but there was one that called her attention the most: a tall, handsome stranger that no one remembered seeing arrive. The princess danced with him, and by the end of the night, she was convinced she was in love. She asked her father to let her marry the stranger, but since no one could attest who he was or whether he even had royal blood in his veins, the king refused._

_Broken-hearted, the princess came up with a plan to run away with her beloved…_

“… did you, Castiel?” a gruff voice asked.

Castiel jolted back to reality and looked around confused. Not a second ago, he had been dancing the night away in room full of nobility and beautiful princesses, and now he was back sitting in his chair in the back of Singer’s Books for All Occasions. His boss was staring at him from the doorway, with a serious expression in his bearded face.

“Yes, Mr. Singer!” Castiel said, scrambling to his feet. Thousands of little needles jabbed his legs, indicating he had been sitting under the lamp, lost within the realm of the book for longer that he thought. After a few seconds of silence, Castiel realized he had no idea what his boss had asked. “Uh, excuse me, what was it that I…?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Singer shook his head. “I’m guessing you got distracted reading again.”

“Sorry,” Castiel said, lowering his eyes to his shoes. “I can’t help it. This book, it has all sorts of stories…”

“It’s alright, kid,” Bobby said. “Just come help me close.”

Castiel hastily obeyed. He pulled the window’s pane down and returned the books the clients had scattered to their shelves while Mr. Singer counted the day’s earnings behind the counter.

“Well, today’s been a good say,” he said, satisfied. His frown for before had disappeared. “You do have a keen eye for what people are looking for when they come here.”

“There’s a book for everybody,” Castiel replied.

“And you are your father’s son,” Mr. Singer added. “If you didn’t get distracted reading while you were supposed to be doing the inventory, then you’d be a perfect employee.”

“Right,” Castiel said, mortified. “I’m sorry again.”

“No matter,” Mr. Singer said, separating a little mountain of golden coins. “Here’s your payment.”

“Thank you, Mr. Singer.”

Castiel put the coins away on his tanned coat and wrapped his blue scarf around his neck, readying himself to face the cold outside. They were having an especially cruel winter, but maybe with the money he was taking his family could afford to buy some extra coal to keep warm until the worst of it was over.

“Kid!” Mr. Singer called.

Castiel turned around just in time to prevent the book flying at him to hit him in the face. He realized, surprised, it was the book he had been reading.

“You want me to put it back in its place…?”

“No, I want you to take it home and finish reading it,” Mr. Singer groaned. “So maybe next time you can keep your head in the business.”

Castiel looked at the book, and he could almost feel it burning in his hands. The princess and her forbidden love were waiting for him, just a few pages into it.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Singer,” he said, touched. “I will return it…”

“Don’t,” Mr. Singer said. “You may have it. Take is as a… a Christmas bonus.”

Castiel held the book to his chest, and thanking Mr. Singer again, he left the bookstore, taking fast strides to make it home and continue reading as soon as he could.

The town was covered in fog and the windows were starting to light up with the glimmer of fire. Castiel lifted the lapels of his coat to keep his ears from freezing. It wasn’t the thickest he had, but Michael and Gabriel, his brothers, needed the other the most, as they worked in the woods even in days like that. He and Anna were lucky to have found work within the town: Mr. Singer’s shop was very cozy, and Anna could always count to have a drink in the tavern to stay warm.

Two years ago, none of the Milton siblings would have thought they would be one day working on menial labor like that. They belonged to what used to be one of the richest families in the town. They had a big house in the countryside, and horses, carriages and servants to tend to their needs. He and his two brothers were meant to replace his father in his very lucrative business when he grew old, while his sister Anna had been desired by every son of every rich family in miles around.

Castiel still wondered how the good times could have vanished in thin air just like that.

It turned out his father’s business partner, Mervin, had been stealing from them and gambling the money away wherever he could. It had been a shock to discover just how much of their fortune he had spent. They lost the house, the horses, the boats, practically everything overnight. They barely had enough left to buy themselves a humble cottage in the outskirts of town that seemed to be crowded all the time because before, they were used to have rooms all to themselves.

“We’ve lost everything!” Michael had protested. “That leech has made us lose our home, our horses…!”

Yes, it had been difficult to accommodate to those new circumstances. What Castiel lamented the most, however, was that he’d had to sell away practically all of the books they had. He’d never known their mother, Naomi, but that library had belonged to her and so, when he’d sat there to read, he’d felt closer than ever to her spirit.

He’d only managed to salvage a few of her books and he’d hidden them underneath a loose floor board because Michael had commented that if pushed came to shove; they could always use them to light a fire. It would be the same with the one Mr. Singer had just given him. He could almost hear the sneer in his brother’s voice: “What, is Singer paying you with books now? You can’t eat those, you know.”

Castiel wondered when Michael had become so bitter. At the same time his father and Gabriel began drinking a little too much, he supposed, or when Anna’s hand had developed calluses and her scarce smiles had become weary.

But they couldn’t spend their lives lamenting what they no longer had. They needed to put food on the table and shoes in their feet and maybe a little of brandy in their father’s cup. And so, the pampered Milton kids, with very little abilities that could serve in the real world, had been forced to find jobs if they wanted to survive.

He’d met Mr. Singer when he had bought most of their mother’s book collection, and he’d asked Castiel to work with him since he knew the books. Although it pained Castiel every time he was forced to sell one, he figured at least he had the chance to make sure they ended in the hands of a person that would cherish them as much as he did.

He pushed the door of the cottage opened, hoping to find a little of warm inside, and hoping in vain. The fire had not been lit, and the place was silent as a tomb, except for his father’s loud snoring coming from the couch where he laid, dead drunk.

Castiel sighed, took off his coat and found a blanket to cover Carver with. The last thing they needed was for the old man to get sick. They wouldn’t be able to afford the doctor’s services. He piled up some logs on the chimney (not many, because Michael would yell at him if he didn’t ration them) and sat by the weak fire, waiting for the frost in his hair to melt and ready to find out what had happened to the princess.

_… the princess came up with a plan to run away with her beloved. They were to meet at midnight, underneath the shadow of the palace’s tower clock. He would bring the horses, and she would bring whatever jewels and money she could carry._

_At last, the time came. Wrapped in her cape, the princess waited. At the final stroke of midnight, her beloved emerged from the shadows, but something in him had changed. Where she had first found kindness, now there was callousness; his eyes, that had seemed warm and welcoming during the ball, now burned with a cold fury. His hands, that had been soft and gentle when he asked her to dance, grabbed her arm with much too force._

_“Princess,” he said. “There’s something you need to know if you are to really love me. This is but a mask that I wear. My true self is quite different, but if you can love me, then you sure can love him.”_

_As he talked, the mysterious prince’s youth melted away, revealing the form of a stout, old wizard. He had a lazy eye and no hair in his head. His teeth were sharp as those of a shark, and the fingers that he used to hold the princess were deformed with long, dirty nails._

_Horrified, the princess took a step backwards._

_“You have fooled me!” she accused the wizard. “You pretended to be someone you were not! I will never marry a man as horrifying as you!”_

_“Ah, princess, I might be horrifying, but it is you who have shown your true self now,” the wizard said. “You’re selfish and superficial, you only loved me when you thought I had beauty. Well, princess, if you believe that is what love is based on, then I will take your beauty away, so no one will ever be able to love you.”_

_And with some words in a mysterious language and a flicker of his wrist, he turned the princess into a repulsive monster. Her soft skin turned grey and hard like a stone, her big eyes became two empty voids. Her face got contorted in an horrendous shape beyond recognition, and her soft hands became cruel claws that hurt whoever she touched. She screamed, and her voice was like the howl of a wounded animal. Laughing, the wizard said:_

_“Now, don’t be sad, princess. For if you can love someone, and that person can love you in return, then the spell will be broken and you will once again be as you were.”_

_And with those words, he disappeared in a puff of smoke, taking the jewels the princess had stolen with him._

_When the kind saw what had happened to his daughter, his heart broke into pieces, and he was no longer able to feel any love. He ordered her be locked away in the castle’s highest tower, where the monster that had once been the princess remained for many years, waiting for someone brave enough to see beyond her disfigured appearance and help her break the spell._

Castiel turned the page and whined in frustration when he found no more words there. That couldn’t be the end of the story. Where was the brave prince that arrived to the castle and freed the princess with a kiss true love? Where was he slaying the evil wizard and having the king repent for the way he treated his daughter? Where was the marriage and the happily ever after?

There were other stories in the book, but Castiel was too frustrated to keep reading. He threw the book across the room, almost hitting Anna on the head when she walked in.

“What is it, little brother?” she asked, laughing as she caught the book in the air. “Did the dragon win the battle?”

“I don’t appreciate stories that promise happy endings and then don’t deliver,” Castiel groaned.

“Well, not every story can have a happy ending,” Anna said. “It wouldn’t be realistic.”

“I know,” Castiel sighed. “But I already have to live in that reality. Why should I have to read about it as well?”

Anna didn’t answer, but the smile she offered Castiel looked utterly sad. She returned the book to him and urged him to hide it away.

“You have to help me make dinner,” she said. “Michael and Gabriel will probably be starving when they arrive. Not to mention father is going to need some herbs for his headache.”

As if to answer, Carver let out a loud, prolonged snore. The two siblings chuckled, and then got to work: they fed the fire, put the kettle on it and started cutting the vegetables as Castiel told Anna about his day.

“… and Mr. Singer said I could bring it with me,” he concluded. “I think he knows we’re not going to have much in the way of Christmas presents this year, so it was very thoughtful of him.”

“Yes,” Anna said, as she distractedly added some onions into the boiling water. “He is very kind.”

Castiel analyzed his sister for a moment. She didn’t seem to be hearing a word he said, and her movements weren’t fluid and elegant as usual, but automatic. Her eyes were unfocused, like her mind was million miles away from their tiny kitchen. This wasn’t her usual tiredness after work.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked in the end.

“Yes, of course I am,” Anna said, shaking her head as if forcing herself to come back to reality. “Why do you ask?”

“Be careful!” Castiel shouted.

Anna jumped, just in time to avoid the knife from chopping off her fingers. She put it aside with a defeated sigh, no longer capable of denying there was something in her mind.

“Don’t tell the others yet,” she said. “Dean Winchester has asked me to marry him.”

Castiel did a double take, almost expecting Anna to say she was joking, but her expression was far too serious.

“What?” he asked. “And what did you say?”

“He said he would like to do things right,” Anna said, very pointedly not replying Castiel’s question. “You know, come here, ask dad for my hand…”

“Anna,” Castiel interrupted her. “What did _you_ tell him?”

Anna rubbed her hands nervously.

“I told him yes,” she confessed. “Provided that Father agreed, of course.”

Castiel stared at her sister, dumbfounded for several seconds. Anna was avoiding his gaze, focusing on the vegetables like they were the most important matter in the universe right then.

“But you don’t love him,” he said.

“Dean is a good man,” Anna replied. “He owns the tavern, he can take care of me…”

“But you _don’t_ love him,” Castiel interrupted her.

“That doesn’t matter, Castiel…”

“Of course it matters!” he protested. “You should marry someone you are in love with, Anna, you deserve that.”

“Oh, Cas,” Anna sighed, a little sad smile appearing on her face. “Maybe I had that option once, but not anymore. I am doing this so I will no longer be a burden on you and the boys…”

“You’re not a burden,” Castiel said. “Who said that? Was it Michael? Because it’s not true at all.”

“Cas,” Anna said, putting a hand on his cheek. “Don’t worry about it. It will be the best for me, and the best for this family. And you’re right, maybe I don’t love Dean right now, but who’s to say I won’t come to love him with time?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“Well, you don’t have to like it,” Anna shrugged, apparently done discussing the issue. “Maybe people get married for love in those books you read, but not in real life. I’m sorry.”

“And then you wonder why I prefer my books,” Castiel commented.

Anna stared at him for a second, and then they both started laughing out loud, all the tension from the previous conversation forgotten.

Castiel couldn’t help but to feel sad, though. Anna was the only one of his siblings who understood his need for escapism, the only one he could honestly have a conversation with about his ambitions to one day travel the world and write everything that he saw. And now she would be gone, living away from him, and he would be stuck with his dad’s excessive drinking habits, Michael’s moodiness and Gabriel’s inability to take anything seriously.

Like thinking of them had invoked them, the door of the cottage open, letting a cold breeze in along with a couple of snowflakes that fluttered in the air for a few seconds before landing and melting on the floor. Michael and Gabriel stomped in, their faces covered by scarves and their bodies shaking inside their thin coats.

“W-Well…” Gabriel said through chattering teeth. “No one can say it isn’t lovely night outside.”

“Close the damned door,” Michael snapped at him.

He talked so loud that he woke up their father, who sat up on the couch looking around in confusion.

“What, when?” he muttered, looking around confused with unfocused eyes.

“Look alive, daddy dearest,” Gabriel said. “Look what we found for you outside.”

He extended an envelope towards him. Despite the fact that he had been inside and near the fire for at least an hour, Castel shuddered. Ever since they had found about Mervin’s financial scams, they had been receiving letters from all sort of collectors demanding that his father (as he was Mervin’s associate) paid his debts. If it was another one of those, it could cost them whatever little money they had been able to save to spend the winter. Castiel could not imagine what they would do then.

His father seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he weighted the envelope in his hand, while looking attentively at the fire.

“No, not even you can be that stupid,” Michael said, like he had read their father’s thoughts.

“Michael!” Anna scolded him.

“It’s true,” Michael shrugged as he sat on the nearest chair and started taking off his boots. “If it is another debt, then we need to pay it off as soon as we can, otherwise it’ll just grow.”

He wasn’t wrong, and everyone understood so. Carver rubbed his temples for a very long time and then said:

“Anna, dear, can you fetch me my glasses? And some of that tea you make too.”

“And in the meantime, we could start getting dinner here,” Gabriel commented. “We’re starving, and this might be the last warm meal we have in a while.”

Nobody laughed at the comment. Castiel turned towards the pot, poured the soups in some bowls and hurriedly passed them to Michael and Gabriel, all the time trying to ignore the fact that Carver was opening the envelope and slowly pulling out the papers it contained.

Everybody held their breaths for a second or two while Carver’s eyes run across the page. Castiel expected to see his father’s face get somber, he expected him to use his bad news tone to inform them of the contents of the letter.

He didn’t expect him to crack a smile.

It was a tiny, timid smile, barely the shadow of the grins and smirks they were used to see before finding out about Mervin’s betrayal, but it was there.

“Well, what do you know,” he said. “We might have some Christmas presents this year after all.”

 

* * *

 

The days that followed the arrival of the letter were the happiest Castiel remembered since they had to move into that cottage. Carver was in good spirits and for once, Michael wasn’t screaming at the smallest inconvenience. Even Gabriel had toned down the level of his sarcastic comments.

It turned out the letter didn’t contain any more debts, but actual good news: a ship was going to arrive to the coast in a few days, bringing a cargo of goods that had been ordered in Carver’s name and paid before they fell into bad times. With them, there existed the possibility to reopen the business and maybe start rebuilding the life they used to have.

“It’s not really much,” Carver explained them as they dines (for the second night in a row, he had stayed sober to oversee the preparations for his journey). “But maybe it’s enough for us to get a fresh start. And get something nice for ourselves for a change. What would you like me to bring back?”

“A new coat would be nice,” Gabriel was the first to ask. “I mean, it doesn’t exactly get any warmer when you descend into the mines.”

“A good pair of boots,” Michael said. “This ones are all wary and falling apart. I can feel the ground whenever I take a step with them.”

“Very well,” Carver said, smiling as he turned towards Anna. “What would you like, dear?”

“Just, uh… well, some fabrics, if that’s okay,” Anna said, blushing. “In white, preferably. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. I want to make myself a dress.”

Michael and Gabriel berated Anna for being so superficial and impractical, but Castiel understood what she meant. Despite the good news, she was decided to continue her plan to marry Dean Winchester. And it wasn’t like he could blame her, but he still didn’t think it was the right thing for her to do.

“And you, Castiel?” Carver asked, interrupting his train of thoughts. “Let me guess: a new book you haven’t read yet!”

Castiel shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. With the gifts his siblings had asked for, there wouldn’t be much left for the “fresh start” his father wanted, and he knew books weren’t precisely cheap.

“I have all the books I could ask for, father,” he replied, shaking his head. “Mr. Singer lets me read them and even borrow one from one to time. You shouldn’t worry about me, I’m just fine.”

“Come on, I’m bringing something for everybody!” Carver insisted. “There’s something you would like, isn’t it?”

Castiel looking around, trying to think of something that wouldn’t cost his father much.

“A rose,” he said in the end, smiling.

“With this weather?” Michael pointed out. “Where is he going to find that?”

“Maybe a rose seed, then,” Castiel said. “I can plant it on the garden once the winter has passed.”

“Well, that’s just a ridiculous request,” Gabriel commented, with a snort.

“It is not,” Castiel replied. “Do you remember the bushes we used to have at home? How they flowers would bloom, so big and luscious? Maybe we can have that again. Maybe we can have a lot of things again.”

And maybe he was speaking too soon, but the optimistic ambient in the cottage was hard to repel. The smile that appeared among his father’s beard was enough to confirm that he was putting all his hopes into this trip. That maybe the cottage could finally become the home they had lost.

They use an important chunk of their money to rent a horse from Widow Harvelle, and loaded it up with food and clothes for several days. Castiel and Anna made sure at least twice, separately and together, that Carver was not taking any alcohol with him.

“Well, I will see you in about three days,” Carver said, as he mounted the horse early the following morning. He was smiling widely, and with his best clothes recently parched by Anna, he looked every bit like the wealthy merchant he once was. “Take care of everything while I’m gone.”

“Goodbye, father!” Anna said, waving her hand at him. “Have a good trip!”

She and Castiel (Michal and Gabriel had already left for work) stayed at the door of the cottage and watched him get away. As he did, however, Castiel felt a shiver down his spine.

“Are you okay?” Anna asked, frowning at him.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Castiel assured her. “It’s the cold, that’s all.”

He didn’t really said what he was thinking: he had been overcome with the terrible feeling that it was the last time they saw their father.


	2. Chapter 2

Carver had left in the cheeriest of moods, but by the time he turned Widow Harvelle’s horse around, he was convinced everything he tried would forever be futile and maybe he would be doing his children a favor if he fell down to the side of the road somewhere and froze to death.

Naomi would accuse him of being overdramatic, but he couldn’t avoid feeling that way.

He had walked into the harbor’s administration with his head held high and a confident smile.

“Good evening,” he’d told the short, bearded man behind the desk. “I’m here to look for a cargo for Carver Milton.”

The man behind the desk didn’t even look up; he just continued writing in the book in front of him. Thinking that maybe he hadn’t heard him, Carver had taken a step closer to him and opened his mouth to speak again.

“I heard you the first time, sir,” the man behind the desk had cut him off before Carver could let another word out. “We have received no cargo to that name.”

“There’s must be a mistake,” Carver had said, his smile hesitating but not yet fading. “I have a letter informing me the ship was supposed to arrive yesterday, and the cargo…”

“I personally supervised the cargos that arrived yesterday,” the man said, raising his dark, little eyes at Carver for the first time. “And there was no cargo to that name.”

“But that’s impossible!” Carver insisted, starting to feel the desperation settling in as he took out the letter from inside his pocket. The captain of the _Cornelia_ …”

“Ah,” the man said. “So that’s what it is. I’m sorry, my friend, but the _Cornelia_ sank before it reached the coast.”

If the man had punched Carver in the face, the effect had not been worse. The merchant stood there, mouth agape and the letter, that had been his life saver and now was but a useless piece of paper, creased in his hand.

“Sank?” he repeated, like he couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

“Sank,” the man behind the desk repeated. “Only a few sailors reached the shore. My guess is your cargo is at the bottom of the sea, along with the rest of them and their captain. Good day.”

And he made a gesture with his hand, obviously meant to both dismiss Carver and get him to move aside for the next person in line.

Carver stumbled out of the harbor’s office, disoriented and defeated. He found some boxes piled up on the side, and sat on them for a moment, sinking his face in his hands, letting his complete despair wash over him like the traitor waves crashed on the shore until someone shouted at him to move.

He should have headed home then, but just to think about the look of disappointment in his children’s face rendered him unable to move. He wouldn’t be able to buy them their new cape, or their new boots, or any fabric of any color. And Castiel wouldn’t have his rose seeds to plant in the garden when spring came again.

So instead of jumping on Widow Harvelle’s horse like he should have, he found the nearest bar and spent the last coins in his pocket to pay for a glass of brandy he made sure to nurse the entire afternoon. That would mean he wouldn’t have any left to pay for shelter or food at any inn he found on the way, and he would probably have to sleep on the floor during that unusually cruel winter, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

By the time he had gathered up the courage to go back home (which was to say, but the time he had finished his drink), the last vestiges of the cold winter light were disappearing in the horizon, and the dark night was looming over his head. Some of the bar patrons shouted at him to not be a fool and stay inside, but Carver was drunk and his mood was bleak, so he didn’t listen.

And now he was there, in the loneliest of roads, not entirely sure he had taken the right path. He was crossing a forest (he had crossed a forest on the way there, hadn’t he?) with trees with long, naked branches that looked like twisted claws trying to get a hold of him. He was shuddering inside his cape as the snow began to fall, wetting his clothes and his hat. The only sound in miles around was the muffled steps of Widow Harvelle’s horse over the path.

Carver’s head was clear now thanks to the cold, and he was starting to think this had been a bad idea after all. If he wanted to die they were far better, less unpleasant ways of doing it that falling off his horse turned into an ice sculpture. He put his hands on the horse’s neck, trying to get some warm. Oh, God, it was going to be a long night, but if he managed to survive and reach the next town over, maybe the inn keeper would let him stay by the fire for a while even if he didn’t buy anything or rented a room.

A loud growl interrupted those optimistic thoughts. Shuddering beneath his cape, Carver looked around, but the road was too dark to see anything but the threatening silhouettes of the trees against the bleak sky. His breath spiraled up in wisps, and his fingers felt frozen over the reins. Suddenly, the night was filled with thousands of noises that hadn’t been there before: the fluttering of wings of night birds of prey taking flight, the squeal of little rodents crossing his path, the muffled singing of crickets.

And drowning all of it, the pounding of his own fickle heart. With trembling hands, he turned on his lamp, but the matches kept slipping from his fingers or the flame extinguished itself in the incessant breeze.

He heard the growl again, and he hadn’t even had time to stifle in his chair when it became a prolonged, deep howl. It was echoed all around the forest by several ones, some of them so close Carver had to cover his own mouth to quiet his scream. He went to hurry the horse, but it was as terrified as him, and with a minimum graze of the reins, it launched into a desperate gallop towards an unknown direction.

It was useless. The pack still caught up to them a few seconds later.

First they were like shadows, moving at the sides of the path, then he heard them barking and groaning right behind him. Carver threw the lamp over his shoulder, hoping it would hit one of them and slow them down, but of course he missed entirely.

He leaned over the horse, that was now running as far as he could and whinnying in terror, but it was no use. The first wolf that threw a bite to his boot received a half-hearted kick that was enough to confuse him, but the rest of them started attacking the horse’s legs, until it lost it. It started bucking, kicking around trying to get rid of its attackers. Carver let out a whimper and tried to hold on to the animal’s neck, but in its blind panic, the animal also seemed decided to throw its load so it could run faster.

One of the horse’s hooves stumbled upon a log on the frozen ground, and the horse fell flat on his side. The wolves wasted no time: they all jumped on him, ferocious teeth and breaths stinking of death grazed Carver’s face. The pain in his ankle was nothing compared to the terror that invaded him, and suddenly he felt warm between his legs.

His instincts kicked in and he stood up to run, run as fast as he could. He ran ignoring the cold, and the stony path, and the growls behind him, he ran until his sides ached and his lungs burned inside of his chest. He ran until, through his vision blurry from the sweat, he thought he saw a golden light ahead of him, and then he ran towards it.

He saw the gate only a second before crashing against it. He put his hands before him, only to prevent his face from hitting the black iron bars. He stopped for a second, gasping for air and trying to hear. The wolves were still howling in the distance, but apparently, they were too busy with the horse to come after him. But it was only a matter of time until they started sniffing his trail.

His only chance to save himself was for the gate to be open. Hoping against all hopes, he pushed… and it swung on its hinges, almost like an invitation. Carver limped inside without a second thought, and made sure to close it again before he looked around.

He was in a garden, wide and luscious as far as he could tell. The merchant shook his head, wondering if he was hallucinating from the exhaustion and the alcohol. When he looked up, the night that had been cloudy and empty was suddenly filled with stars and a full moon that hanged over the leafy trees. The air was warmer, or maybe he still felt hot from his running. In any case, he took off his cape as he advanced over the grass (soft, perfect grass) towards the light that still glimmered in the distance.

The palace looked ominous, with its only light in one of the windows, and for a moment, Carver considered to just lay on the steps leading to the heavy door and sleep there. But he had no guarantees that there weren’t wolves on those grounds too, so he gathered up what little courage he had left and moved to grab the heavy knocker. Before he could even hit it against the doors of the palace, the door creaked open.

Carver limped inside a dark lobby, with a set of stairs extending before him. He shivered again, not because he was cold anymore, but because he felt the sting of a couple of eyes on him. Fearfully, he looked up.

There was a dark figure standing at the top. Carver could see the skirt of her dress and the silhouette of a hand resting on the rail, but little else. Not her face or her shape. But by the posture she maintained, with the back straightened up and her head held high, the merchant suspected he was in the presence of a noble lady. Immediately, he made a clumsy reverence in her direction.

“Who are you?” she asked him. Her voice was like a raspy whisper, but it still commanded his attention. “Any why are you in my castle?”

“I-I apologize for the intrusion, milady,” he stammered. “I am just a simple merchant. I was travelling back to my home, and I was attacked… I’m afraid my horse has been killed, and I am injured. I humbly seek you let me spend the night at your home. I promise you, I will go on my way in the morning.”

The figure at the top of the stairs remained silent for such a long time that Carver started to fear that he would be ignominiously kicked out back into the cold and the danger and the wolves. He opened his mouth to let out another plea, but the lady of the castle spoke again:

“Very well, then,” she said. “You may stay. Take all you need and more, but nothing take away.”

And with those cryptic words, she turned around and disappeared.

Carver stayed still in his place, trembling for several seconds until the pain in his ankle became unbearable. He walked towards the door to his left, hoping to find a couch or a chair where to sit and rest his tired muscles.

When he crossed it, however, he found himself in the most exquisite dining hall. There was a chimney with a crackling fire next to a long table served as if it were to feed a dozen guests, with plates glimmering in the light and delicate crystal glasses, all empty and waiting for someone to come to them. Carver sat on the nearest chair, admiring everything around him open-mouthed: the walls were covered in colorful hangings that depicted all sort of fantastic creatures: unicorns with their heads resting on maidens’ laps, and dragons spitting fire at knights holding swords that looked like toothpicks next to the beast, and fairies joyfully playing between garden flowers. The picture window in front of him showed a blue, starry summer night.

That was absolutely impossible.

There were two options as to what was going on there. One, he had really died during the wolves’ attack, and this was some sort of heaven he had been welcomed to. Two, he had entered a magical realm of sorts, a realm that went by rules that were beyond his understanding.

He waited for his mysterious host to join him and let him know which one it was, but several minutes passed without anyone else entering the hall. His stomach started rumbling uncomfortably loud, so with a little of fear, Carver extended his hand to the nearest platter and uncovered it.

The scent of deer meat cooked in its own juices and reached his nose and it made his mouth water. He picked a pair of pincers dutifully displayed next to it, and helped himself to a piece. When he finished, he uncovered the next platter to discover a lobster, red and meaty, served between steamed vegetables that were still warm in his mouth.

The food had to be the best he ever tasted, all cooked perfectly and accompanied by a jar of the sweetest wine. He drank a glass after another, until it went to his head and started making him ecstatic. He started conversing with the empty chairs like there were noble ladies and lords sat in them.

“No, please, I couldn’t take another bite, milady, you’re so kind,” he commented, as he dipped a piece of bread in the sauce. “Oh, what’s that, milord? Another glass? I guess I could,” he said, as he laughingly poured more wine into his glass. “Oh, yes, thank you, my children are fine, yes. The girl, Anna, I think she’s thinking about marriage. That boy Dean Winchester does seem to have his eye on her. Oh, no, she hasn’t told me anything yet, but a father always knows, isn’t that right? The older ones? They’re hard-working boys. Too hard-working, I daresay. It’s making them a little bit bitter. Sometimes I look at them and wonder, where are those smiling boys that used to climb on my knees and ask me how was my travel whenever I came back home? Now they are so serious all the time. Well, Michael is. Gabriel laughs more, but I don’t think he really means it. It’s a bitter laugh, humorless. Like everything is big, unfunny joke to him.”

He stopped in the middle of his monologue and shook his head. Why was he talking like that? To whom he was talking to? He’d really had too much wine.

But then the lady sitting in front of him asked him another question, and it’d had been rude not to answer.

“Oh, the youngest one! Castiel, yes,” he said. “Always with the nose in his books. Yes, just like his mother. He’s a dreamer. He’s the only one who’s not… how do I put this? I think he’s the only one who doesn’t blame me for losing our fortune. He’s smart enough to know it was my fault, of course, but he doesn’t blame me for it. That’s my Cas, he always tries to find the beauty in ugly situations. But sometimes it feels like he’s really far away from me. I never know what is going on inside that head of his…”

He blinked a couple of times.

“What, dessert? Oh, no, milady, I really think I’ve had enough this time. Please, please, no. I’m really tired. It has been a long night. I believe is time for me to go to bed.”

He stood up clumsily and made a reverence towards the empty chairs.

“I thank you for your company, since our host couldn’t join us. She seems like a private woman, doesn’t she? Oh, well. If you see her, tell her I thank her once again for her generosity. No, seriously, I have to go now… good night to you all!”

He stumbled towards the door, his already poor balance made worse for all the wine he’d drunk. When the door closed behind him, he thought he heard the rumor of an animated chatter and some music behind him, but he was too unstable and too tired to go back and check.

In the morning, he wouldn’t remember how he found that room. Logically, he knew he must have climbed some stairs and walked down a hall, but he couldn’t recall doing it. He just sort of opened a door, and there it was, a pole bed with fresh sheets and a soft mattress waiting for him. On the night-table, there was a pot with a fragrant cream next to a note written in a delicate cursive: “For your ankle.”

“Why, thank you very much,” Carver said to no one in particular. He had the strange feeling that it didn’t matter. His appreciation could reach the lady of the castle wherever she was. He rubbed some of the cream on his foot. It was thick and it smelled like something earthy, like herbs and summer and something soothing he didn’t identified.

The sheets on his bed also smelled like flowers (lavender, in this case), and they were so soft and the mattress was so comfortable, that in a few seconds Carver had forgotten about everything horrible and strange that happened that night. Within minutes, he was sleeping like a log.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t know how many hours passed. When he woke up, the sun was up in the sky like it was midday, but he had the impression those details were irrelevant inside that castle. For example, there was no way a winter sun shone that bright on that impossibly blue sky.

The cream in his night-table had disappeared, and instead there was a little bottle with another note of the same letter: “For your headache.” Carver touched his forehead and realized that yes, indeed, it was aching. His mouth was dry and the room spun a little bit when he sat up, but he’d suffered worse hangovers. He’d still reached for the little bottle and downed its contents in one gulp. He would need to be on his best form to confront his children when he told them about the sunken cargo and…

Slowly, but surely, he started remembering all that was expected of him, and how disappointed they would be when he returned empty-handed. Well, Anna and Castiel would be disappointed, but they wouldn’t complain (he thought). Gabriel would just mutter something about bad luck and keep pretending he didn’t care about having a new cape. Michael would be the worst, because Michael would be furious but not surprised or disappointed. There was no way to know how he’d react. He could scream at him, or he could just give him a silent look of contempt, the same look he’d had in his eyes since the moment they’d find out they were ruined, like it was somehow his fault for not predicting what Mervin would do.

He started pacing around the room, knowing he should get on his way like he had promised his host, but unable to find the courage to do so. He stopped next to the window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass (what an amazing luxury, to have enormous windows with glasses like that), and he stared at the wide, green castle grounds. In those gardens, nothing would ever wither. The flowers would bloom eternally, without ever dying. There would certainly…

A slow idea started dawning on his tired mind. He hastily put over his boots and left his room.

Finding the way outside the castle was the easy part. He only had to run for a short hallway, climbed down a flight of stairs, and in a second, he was standing in front of the same doors he had come through the night before. He pushed them open and stopped for a second to bask in the sun. His host might enjoy this mild weather every day, but it would be months before he had the privilege to see a day as perfect as that.

He walked around, pretending to admire the trees and the bushes cut in different shapes: horses, lions, rabbits adorned the infinite green around him. Something so perfect could only exist by way of magic, and Carver believed wholeheartedly, even if his children or anyone else wouldn’t when he told that story. In fact, he was hesitating whether to tell the story at all or not when he found what he was looking for.

Three bushes of roses adorned the possible entries to a hedge maze, each of a different color: red, yellow and white. The flowers were in bloom, displaying their petals colorful and velvety, in a level of perfection that not even Carver’s wife, with all her cares, had been able to reach on a good summer day.

Carver looked over his shoulder. For a second, he stopped to consider if what he was about to do was wrong. But his host seemed to have so many things for herself. It wouldn’t be wrong if he took just this little one and then left forever, would it?

With trembling hands, he extracted the knife from his boot and wrapped his hand around one of the red roses. A thorn sank on his finger and he whimpered, but didn’t stop. In one fluid movement, he cut a long part of the stem.

In the blink of an eye, a claw with long fingernails grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, lifting him in the air at the same time several grey, angry clouds covered the sky and darkened the air around him. Carver gasped in horror, as he looked for the first time into the eyes of his host.

She was horrifying in the most literal way. Her skin was scaly, like some sort of ugly reptile, grey and cold. She had horns like those of a ram springing from the sides of her head that was covered in dry strands of black hair. Her mouth, deformed in a grimace of rage, had two rows of teeth as thin and sharp as needles. There was no nose in her face, just a pair of slits like those of a snake. She wore a dress that had once had been elegant, but was now thorn and frayed in different parts, full of dirt and twigs.

But the worst part of all, the thing Carver knew would never be able to forget, were her eyes. Completely black eyes, big and terrible like bottomless pits. They were staring right at his face, inescapable.

“Thief!” she hissed, her voice brimmed with fury. “I gave you food and refuge for the night, and this is the thanks I receive? Were my instructions not clear? I said, _nothing_ take away!”

Carver gasped for air twice, while the Beast shook him in the air with titanic force. He was nothing but a rag doll in her claws that were now sinking into his skin with fury. He felt a drop of blood sliding down his neck.

“Ple… please…” he managed to breath. “So… I’m so…”

“You’re sorry?” the Beast shouted. “It’s that what you’re trying to say? Is that all you’ve got to say in your defense?”

She pulled him closer to her, until he couldn’t escape the dark gaze of those terrible eyes. The garden around them started spinning, and just when Carver thought he was about to lose his consciousness, the Best threw him down. His face hit the floor gracelessly and he remained there, holding onto the grass, trying to get some air for his hurt throat.

A foot came to rest between his shoulder blades. The heel (or maybe it was the nails, he couldn’t know) ripped through his clothes until he felt the sharp end against his back again.

“I should kill you right here,” the Beast said, mercilessly. “I should kill you in this very spot, so you can die like the heathen you are, with your face buried in the dirt. You deserve no less for what you did to my roses!”

“Please,” Carver whimpered, pathetically. “Please, don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but please, my lady. Have mercy. I have children. Three sons and a daughter who need me. Please, don’t kill me.”

He closed his eyes, holding onto the grass with both hands, waiting for her to strike the fatal blow. But the seconds passed, and finally, the foot moved away from his back.

“Why did you cut the rose?” she asked, in a calmer tone, but Carver felt the vibration in the air, like she could start screaming again at any given moment.

“It’s… it was for my son,” Carver explained, still looking at the ground, hoping he looked humiliated enough for her to forgive him. “My youngest, Castiel. He… he asked I bring him one when I returned from my trip. But, but…”

“Silence!” she ordered.

Carver bit his tongue. He trembled on the earth, terrified. He had escaped the wolves, only to die at the hands of a much worse beast.

He heard the whisper of her dress as she moved away from him. Fearfully, he raised his head just a little bit to look at her. She was sitting on a bench in front of him, and she looked thoughtful.

“So this is what your life is worth to your son?” she asked. Her tone was no longer angry, but almost mocking. “Just a rose for his father’s life?”

“M-my children love me,” he guaranteed her. The stammer in his voice didn’t help him sound convincing.

“Do they?” she snapped. “Would you wager your life on it?”

Carver didn’t know what to answer to that, so instead of risking making her mad again, he remained silence. A smirk appeared on her lipless mouth.

“Yes, let’s make a bet,” she said. “I will let you go now. You will return to your home, and tell your children what you’ve seen and lived here. You’ll tell them that you have three days to return, and when you do, I will kill you… unless one of them agrees to come in your place.”

“No,” Carver shook his head. “No, I can’t do that to my children. I can’t ask them to die in my place. If you’re going to kill me, kill me now.”

She stared at him, unblinking. It was impossible to know what she was thinking.

“And if I promise not to kill them?” she asked. “The child who chooses to come to me will not die, but live here as my prisoner. Their freedom for your life. It seems like a fairer trade than your life for a rose.”

Carver didn’t answer. He was already thinking what he was going to do. He was going to take those three days to say goodbye to his family, to settle some matters he still had in the town. And then, when that was done, he would return to die like a man. There was no way on Earth he was going to let one of his children live with that monstrous beast in front of him.

“What do you say?” she insisted, bringing him back to the conversation brusquely. “Do we have a deal? I must warn you, there’s too much magic in the air. If you make this promise, you’re going to have to keep it.”

Carver took a deep breath, and stood up, stumbling on his feet as he offered his hand to the Beast.

“Deal,” he agreed.

Her hand was rough and cold.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a slow day at Mr. Singer’s bookshop. Which was fine by Castiel: a slow day meant he had more time to classify and re-classify all the books in the back, and maybe choose a couple to go through while he pretended to tend to the store behind the counter. It was almost mid-afternoon, and the bell over the door had not rung even once. It should have been an ideal day for him to lose himself in the story he had chosen.

But he couldn’t do it. Every time he started, he lost the line he was reading, or the words got mixed up in front of his eyes, or he completely forgot what the plot was about. In the end, he left the book aside and went to sit next to the small window.

The snow was falling again, which meant they would have another exceptionally cold night. The sun was not gone yet, but it wouldn’t make any difference once it was. The night was going to be a cruel one to be outside.

And their father had not returned home yet.

He should have arrived that morning, but Castiel had waited until it was almost too late to go to work, and then Anna had pushed him outside the door, telling him she would let him know the minute he arrived.

“Maybe he’s late because he had to hire someone to bring all the goods,” she said, with an excessive optimistic tone that Castiel knew was masking her actual concerns.

“Or maybe he’s just dead drunk in a ditch somewhere because he fell off the horse,” Michael groaned. That sounded a lot more probable, but they still glared at him for suggesting it. “I’m just saying!” Michael replied, raising his hands defensively.

“Maybe one of us should have gone with him,” Gabriel said, and for the first time in a very long time, he was actually saying something completely true. He and Michael couldn’t go away for that much time without losing their jobs at the mines, but he could have asked Mr. Singer to let him go for a few days. Nobody went out to buy books with that weather anyway.

But he hadn’t, and now they had no idea where his father was or what had happened to him. If it was, as Anna said, because of the goods, he would have sent a message letting them now he was on his way. What Michael had said sounded a lot more plausible, but the thing they hadn’t considered was that if their father had really passed out somewhere on the road, then the cold of the night would have probably killed him. And if not that, the starving wild animals would.

In any case, Castiel couldn’t stop being worried. He wished his father would return already.

Just as he was thinking that, Mr. Singer came back to the store with his basket. He stood on the door, staring at Castiel like he was some sort of strange piece of furniture that had appeared in the middle of his store all of the sudden.

“What are you doing here?”

“I… work here,” Castiel reminded him.

“I know that, kid,” Mr. Singer replied. “But why are you here and not with your dad?”

Castiel startled. “Father has returned?”

Mr. Singer shook his head. “Boy, has no one told you?”

No one had told Castiel, because it all literally just happened. A troupe of actors had just arrived to the town, with a man in tow they claimed to have found on the road in the woods North of the town. The man was frozen to the bone, barely alive and talking nonsense about a Beast, but he had managed to tell them their name and where he lived. The actors had been asking around town, and someone had directed them to the Milton’s cottage.

“Why are you still here?” Mr. Singer asked. “You have to go be with him!”

Castiel was so astonished the only thing he managed to do was grabbing his jacket and bolting out of the store. He was just crossing the gate of their dead garden when he realized he hadn’t even thanked Mr. Singer for the information.

The cottage’s windows were lit up, and when he opened the door, a suffocating heat hit him in the face. There was a raging fire in the fireplace, and Gabriel was adding more logs to it without caring how much they had left for the rest of the winter. Carver was on the couch, trembling violently beneath what essentially were all the covers on the house.

“Father!” Castiel shouted, and ran to give him a hug.

“Close the door!” Michael screamed at him, but Castiel didn’t register it. He was so happy to find Carver alive, that he felt capable of facing everything: the winter, his brothers’ broodiness, Anna’s loveless engagement.

He was so happy, in fact, that at first he didn’t register the desperate expression in his father’s face. Carver’s eyes were vacant and lost, and his lips were trembling violently. When Castiel hugged him, he glanced at him like he was a complete stranger or a ghost he thought long forgotten.

He looked lost, Castiel thought when he realized. He hadn’t looked that lost and desperate since their mother’s death.

“Here,” Anna came out of the kitchen with a bowl of soup she put right underneath Carver’s nose. “Eat this. You’ll feel better.”

Carver gave the bowl the same confused look, and then slowly raised his hands to receive it. In doing so, something fell out of his jacket. At first Castiel wasn’t sure what he was seeing, or that he was seeing it correctly, but when he leaned down to pick it up, he realized it was true.

His father had somehow, in the middle of winter, got a perfect white rose for him.

“Father,” Castiel said, both touched and perplexed. “Where did you get this?”

Carver stared at the rose for a second. Then he threw the bowl of soup against the wall, and began shouting uncontrollably.

 

* * *

 

It took several minutes to calm him down, and when he did, he broke down into the most pitiful sobbing as he relate to his children an impossible tale of enchanted castles with a perpetual summer sun shining upon them and the terrible Beast that inhabited it.

“Sh-she made me… she made me promise I’d come back,” he told them between stutters and cries. “She said she would p-punish me. For cutting her rose. Sh-she was furious…”

“Father, please,” Anna insisted, wrapping her arms around him as if that would get him to stop trembling. “You have a fever. You’re delirious.”

“Sh-she told me to send one of you instead,” Carver kept telling them, his eyes opening wide in horror as he shook his head. “But I can’t. I can’t. _I_ must come back, you have to stay here… live your lives…”

“Should we call the doctor?” Gabriel suggested.

“Yeah, and pay him with what?” Michael groaned. “He doesn’t seem to have brought anything back except for this stupid flower. And now we’re not only just as ruined as before, we also owe Widow Harvelle a horse.”

He didn’t seem to care much for the state their father was in. In fact, he was barely even looking in his direction. His eyes were fixed on the rose that rested over the dinner table, and sometimes they moved towards Castiel. He wasn’t saying it (none of them were saying it), but the youngest of the Milton could feel everyone thinking it: whatever happened to their father, it had been because he’d tried getting Castiel his present. All of this was his fault.

“Stop,” Anna said, shaking her head. “He needs some rest, alright? If he continues like this tomorrow, we’ll call the doctor, but in the meantime…”

“No, no!” Carver shouted, as he tried to squirrel away from his daughter’s arms. “No! I have to go back! Who knows what she’s capable of if I don’t keep my word? I have to go to her castle…”

“Oh, give him a bottle of ail and let him drink it down!” Michael exclaimed, finally losing whatever little was left of his patience. “You’ll see how he’ll be his old usual self again once he’s so drunk he doesn’t know his own name!”

He stood up with his blue eyes glimmering with fury and stormed out of the cottage.

A heavy silence fell within the rest of the family, finally interrupted by Carver’s ramblings:

“It’s fine,” he said. “He doesn’t understand because he didn’t see her. She’s a horrible Beast, but I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of going to her if it means I’ll be sparing you from that destiny.”

 

* * *

 

The night that followed was long and difficult. It took the three of them to convince their father he needed to stay in the house, he needed to stay near the fire and drink the food Anna brought them.

“No, you don’t understand,” he said, over and over again. “I have to go!”

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” Anna tried explaining to him, patiently. “You’re home. You’re with your family.”

“Yes, I am now,” Carver said. “If I don’t return in three days, the Beast will find a way to harm you. I know it!”

“Look, pops, I don’t know who is this Beast you keep going on and on about,” Gabriel said, trying to appeal to a logic that was wasted on their father’s feverish brain. “But she’s far away from here. We’re safe. You’re safe. Let’s leave it like that way.”

“You don’t understand!” Carver cried it. “The only way for it to stay that way is if I go back and let her kill me!”

Those words sent a shiver down Castiel’s spine. Their father looked so desperate and so tired, like he truly believed each and every single one of the words he was saying. At least in his mind, the Beast was a real and very present danger.

And that’s what gave him the idea it’d be impossible to reason with him, unless they did it in his same terms.

“Father,” Castiel said, kneeling in front of the couch where they had managed to sit him down. “Listen to me. It’s late. It’s freezing outside. If you leave now, you might die before you reach the Beast, and she might think you broke your promise.”

Carver’s restless eyes stopped moving for a second to focus on his youngest.

“You… you think?” he stammered.

“I know so,” Castiel insisted, with pretended confidence. “If you must go, if you must die at the hands of this Beast, do it in the morning. She gave you three days, didn’t she? There’s plenty of time for you to go back. But tonight stay here and let us take care of you.”

Carver blinked, still hesitant, so Castiel decided to crown his words with a plea:

“If she kills you as you fear she will, then that means this is the last time we will ever see you,” he said. “Please, stay with us. Just tonight.”

Carver swallowed loudly. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

“Very well,” he agreed, with a hoarse voice. “Just tonight.”

Then he threw his arms around Castiel’s neck, brought him closer to his chest and started sobbing uncontrollably again.

 

* * *

 

After what seemed like hours, Carver finally fell asleep near the fire. Gabriel, Anna and Castiel decided to take turns to watch over him, in case that his delirium compelled him to try and leave the house.

“When do you think Michael will be back?” Castiel asked.

Gabriel and Anna exchanged looks and didn’t answer. Castiel understood they didn’t expect Michael to return anytime soon.

They gave Castiel the last turn, so he went to bed, but he tossed and turned several times unable to fall asleep. Some of the things Carver had said haunted his thoughts. He couldn’t imagine what kind of pressure had been inflicted upon his father’s mind to render him in that state, but it must have been some sort of horrible torture.

Or maybe Michael was right. Maybe they really were just ravings caused by the abstinence of alcohol in his body.

Whatever the case, there was one thing that wasn’t possible – or better said, that it should have been impossible: where or how could he have got such a perfect rose in a climate like that? Perhaps he’d happened upon the house of some rich nobleman (he had mentioned a castle at some point, Castiel believed), someone rich enough to own a glasshouse that’d keep his roses protected from the cruel winter.

But that explanation didn’t satisfy him. Even if that was the case, how could the rose be so perfect, its color so pristine, its petals so soft? Not even his mother, with all the dedication she put on her roses, had ever achieved something so unimaginably perfect.

He rolled over unto his stomach and hid his face in the pillow, still trying to wrap his head around that mystery. He visualized the rose once more, imagined it growing in a bush. If the rose was that perfect, the bush it came from couldn’t be any less: it’d be green and luscious, placed in a garden equally green and luscious. But such place could only exist under the spring sunlight, so it followed that the garden only existed underneath a blue, clear sky and…

“Your father stole my rose.”

Castiel jumped, and realized he wasn’t in his room anymore. Instead, he was standing right in the middle of that garden, staring at roses as perfect as the one Carver had brought.

He looked around for the person that had spoken.

In a stone bench right behind him, there was a princess.

Well, she couldn’t be anything but a princess, Castiel imagined. She was wearing a sumptuous dark blue dress with pearls embroidered all across it. It made Castiel think of a starry night in the middle of summer, the kind of night that preceded a brilliant day. She was looking at him with her chin stuck in the air, all arrogance and dignity. Her long black hair waved slightly in the gentle breeze.

“My apologies, my lady,” Castiel said, immediately kneeling in front of her. “I’m sure he didn’t know…”

“I _warned_ him,” she replied, her full lips twisting sideways in an angry grimace. “And he chose not to heed me. And even if he didn’t know, a crime of ignorance is still a crime. So now you understand why he has to come back to me and die.”

“Please,” Castiel begged. “He’s just an old and sick man who’s lost so much already. Is there any way I can convince you to forgive his life?”

Her expression softened, but only slightly.

“You could come in his place,” she said. Her voice was like a hoarse whisper.

Castiel shivered, but held her gaze. Her big brown eyes were cold as she awaited his answer.

“How will I find you?” he asked in the end.

“Take the rose with you when you leave your home,” she instructed him. “Fate and magic have their own paths, Castiel.”

He was about to ask how she knew his name, but then someone repeated it in his ear:

“Castiel.”

And this voice he knew. It was Anna’s.

He opened his eyes. Apparently he had fallen asleep after all, although he didn’t feel like he had rested. He sat up on the bed. Somewhere to his left, Gabriel was snoring softly.

“Is it my turn already?”

Anna nodded.

“But you don’t have to go watch over him if you don’t want,” she offered him. “Dad’s sleeping like a log. I doubt he will wake up.”

Castiel looked at his sister’s face (her messy red hair, the circles underneath her eyes), and once more was hit by that feeling of uneasiness he felt the morning their father left. Like it was the last time in his life he was seeing Anna.

He pushed those thoughts aside and shook his head.

“No, I’ll watch over him,” he promised. “Just in case.”

Anna nodded, and then yawned, so Castiel urged her to lay in his bed if she was too tire to go to her own.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she muttered, right before laying her head on the pillow and falling fast asleep. Castiel pulled the covers over her so she wouldn’t get sick.

The fire in the living room was extinguished now, but just as Anna had said, Carver was sleeping so deeply, tucked under so many blankets, it was doubtful he would wake up.

Castiel stared outside the window for a moment. The sky was a black, cloudy void, without any stars on sight. He thought again of the dress the princess of his dream was wearing, how the pearls glimmered under the sun.

_“Come to me,”_ her voice whispered in his ear.

Castiel rubbed his eyes fiercely, but he hadn’t fallen asleep on accident. He was wide awake, in fact, more awake than he had been in his entire life. His mind was illuminated with a strange clarity, like all the answers to all the questions he could possibly had were just within his reach.

The rose rested over the table. Castiel took it and caressed its perfect petals one more time before sticking it into his pocket. Then he leaned over his sleeping father.

“You’re in this debt because of me,” he told him. “It’s only fair that I pay for it.”

He left the lightest of pecks on his forehead. Carver didn’t wake up.

Castiel took a coat (the shabbiest one, he didn’t want his brothers accuse him of taking one of the good ones), and tiptoed out of the cottage. His boots rustled over the snow piled outside their door. The cold air stabbed him in the lungs, and he had to hug himself to stop from shivering. He hesitated for one moment longer, and then he got on his way.

Michael stumbled down the street and leaned against their garden’s gate to recover his balance, just in case to see the back of his brother’s head walking away from the house. He called his name to ask what the hell he thought he was doing, leaving so late and in that weather (he might not have been sober enough to appreciate the irony of that question).

But Castiel didn’t turn around. A second later, his figure had disappeared down the road that led into the Northern Woods.

Michael stood there, wondering if he run after him or call for help, but in the end he decided it was too cold. Maybe that man wasn’t his brother. Maybe there was no man at all, just the dawn’s early light and the trees’ shadows playing tricks on his mind.

Convincing himself he had seen nothing, he entered the cottage.

 

* * *

 

The woods weren’t easy to walk through, Castiel discovered pretty soon. The frozen ground hid stones and logs he could trip on at any given moment, and the lazy winter sunrise meant everything was suspended somewhere in that weird time between day and night. As a consequence, even the most inoffensive of shadows (a bird flapping its wings over his head, a branch moving in the cutting wind) seemed threatening and made Castiel’s heart pound faster in his chest. He had tried running, but soon his boots were wet with snow and his feet were so cold that he could only focus on putting one in front of the other. At least the night had passed. Maybe that meant the rustles he heard sometimes around or behind him weren’t hungry wolves tracking him down for a late dinner or an early breakfast.

In many occasions, his rational thoughts were about to take over and screamed at him to turn around, to return to the safety and the warmth of his home. They had been so worried about his father taking off unexpectedly in the middle of the night that none of them had thought it would be him who would lose his wits and end up wandering into danger and a more than likely death. He hadn’t even taken something to snack on when he left, so to the cold and the fear he felt, he had to add the hunger gnawing at his stomach.

But he kept going. Sometimes he sank his fingers into his pocket and caressed the rose’s petals, and that simple act was enough to push him to go on, to keep looking, to heed that voice in his head that kept repeating softly: “ _Come to me, Castiel. I’m waiting._ ”

Finally, just as a pale sun rose in the horizon, Castiel saw it.

At first he wasn’t sure he was seeing correctly, but after blinking several times and rubbing his eyes, he accepted that what he was towering right in front of him was a castle, with a closed black gate and enormous grounds that looked undisturbed by the wood’s and the winter’s presence: the grass on the other side was emerald green, and it looked well cut, like somebody had tended to it the day before or that very same morning. As he got closer to the gate, he could make out the dew glistening everywhere. The castle, for its part, looked like a sumptuous palace, the kind that Castiel had only seen in his books’ illustrations. It had towers and minarets, and a great wooden door that almost defied him to knock.

He was really seeing all that. His eyes were fine. So the other option was that it was his mind that had lost touch with reality.

He took another step forwards, and hesitantly, wrap his hands around one of the gate’s bars. It was solid and cold, just like iron was supposed to be in that weather. But Castiel had the vivid impression that as soon as he crossed the gates (if he dared, if he found the courage to actually go through with it), the bars would be warm, as they would be if they had spent the entire day under the sun.

There was a second hesitation, another moment in which the rational part of him indicated him he should turn away and try to find his way back home. But Castiel had the impression it was too late for that. If he did, he would be lost in the woods, and he wouldn’t be able to find the castle again.

He would never be able to see the princess again.

He pushed the gate open. It creaked a little over its hinges, but it was a lot lighter than it seemed. As soon as the crack was wide enough for him, Castiel slipped through it and took a couple of steps into the garden.

And he had to stop to take off his coat, because the heat on the other side was suffocating and the sun shone down on him mercilessly. For some reason, he wasn’t surprised to see the grey skies he left behind had turned sapphire blue, but it was a shock to turn around and see that the gate he had just walked through had disappeared, covered in bright green hedges. Like the castle didn’t want him to ever leave.

That was a dark thought, but Castiel shook his head and forced himself to continue towards the door. The frost that had gathered in his shoulders and clothes had melted by the time he reached it, and he was sweating profusely. He would have given anything for a glass of cold water.

He knocked on the great wooden door, and it opened for him, apparently of its own volition. Inside, there was a lobby, illuminated by great large windows that let in as much sunlight as it was possible. The floor underneath him glistened, perfectly clean, and waiting for him just at the bottom of the staircase, there was a small table, with a jar and a very elegant goblet. Mesmerized, Castiel walked towards it and looked inside the jar. It contained clear water, and when he touched the jar, he realized it was ice cold, just like he had wished.

He looked over both of his shoulders, but he was the only one there. Nobody seemed to have served that water, and apparently there wasn’t anybody else to drink it. He still hesitated before pouring some on the goblet. He had read plenty of stories about the Fairyland, and the travelers who inadvertently ate or drank something offered to them, only to find that meant they were now trapped forever there and could never go back home.

Because, with all certainty, there was something magical going in that place. But he doubted very much it had to with fairies.

He filled the goblet to the brim and took it to his lips. The water was sweet and it relieved his dried throat magnificently. He drank it down to the last drop, and grabbed the jar to fill the goblet again when…

“Who, exactly, are you?” howled a voice from atop the stairs.

Castiel jumped, and both goblet and jar slipped from his hands, clattering against the ground and splashing his boots. He felt his heart pounding in his throat as he very slowly dared to look up.

Staring at him with black, unblinking eyes, there stood his father’s Beast, the Lady of the Enchanted Castle.


	4. Chapter 4

“Well?” she insisted when Castiel failed to find his voice. “I asked you a question.”

She climbed down just one step, and Castiel had to resist the impulse to turn around and run for his life. It would be useless anyway. He wouldn’t find the gate, and he had the impression no matter how far or how fast he ran, she would always be able to catch up to him. She was hideous, just as his father had warned him, and the rage on her face was terrifying.

But her voice…

She had the same voice as the princess from his dream.

Castiel took a deep breath and forced himself to hold her gaze.

“I-I am s-sorry, my lady,” he stuttered. “I-I’m sorry if I intruded, I didn’t mean to…”

She started descending the stairs and Castiel had to bite his lips forcefully not to beg her to stay away. He felt his pockets, perhaps looking for a weapon, but all he found was the rose, that had miraculously survived all that time. He took it out and held it in front of him, as if that would protect him from the horror of the Beast’s face.

“My name is Castiel Milton,” he said, suddenly recovering a little bit of courage. “I have come to take my father’s place.”

The Beast stopped in the last step. She was still far away, but Castiel could see that she wasn’t as tall as he thought. In fact, she was probably a head shorter, but he had no doubt in his mind that she could grab him and toss him around like a rag doll with those hands like claws she had.

But she didn’t seem to be in the mood to do that, precisely. In fact, she was tilting her head with curiosity.

“Huh,” she muttered. “Well, that’s… not what I was expecting.”

She approached Castiel, who had to use all his will strength not to close his eyes. If she was going to kill him, he would accept death valiantly.

Instead, what she did was walk around him a couple of times, moving her head up and down as if to analyze him from every angle. In the end, she stopped right in front of him. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn he saw a smirk in her lipless mouth.

“Very well,” she said, in the end. “Come with me.”

She turned around and started climbing the stairs again. Castiel stayed rooted on his spot, equal parts confused and terrified. She stopped when she noticed he wasn’t following her.

“Is there a problem?” she asked. There was obvious sarcasm in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “I thought, I… well… aren’t you going to kill me?”

“Didn’t your father explain what our deal was?” the Beast asked.

“Well, when he came home, he… wasn’t making a lot of sense,” Castiel explained.

The Beast stared at him for a second, and then she burst out laughing. It wasn’t a shrieking, deafening sound like Castiel thought it’d be judging by her appearance. In fact, it was joyful and rough, like she hadn’t laughed like that in a while. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that laughter coming out of his princess delicate lips.

“Yes,” she said, suppressing the last chuckles. “I have that effect on people.”

Castiel didn’t know what to answer to that comment, so he remained quiet.

“Not very brilliant, are you?” she mocked him. “I promised your father that if one of his children volunteered to come take his place, I wouldn’t kill them. Simple as that.”

“And what keeps you from breaking that promise?” Castiel asked. He thought it was a fair question, since it was his neck on the line and all.

“Magic,” she replied. “You might have noticed is everywhere in this castle. I learned long ago it’s not a good idea to break a promise made in the presence of something powerful and charged. The consequences… they can be very unpredictable. Not to mention unpleasant.”

Castiel took note of that. He wasn’t sure how it would help him, but he needed to learn everything he could about this place, now that he knew he hadn’t come to die there.

“Well?” she insisted.

Castiel hurried to follow her. She grabbed the skirt of her dress (a ragged dressed with the hem almost black from the dirt) in a parody of what a lady-like gesture and guided him up, and then down a hallway that had windows as large as the ones he had seen downstairs. The sunlight was almost blinding there.

“You’re allowed to go anywhere you like,” she told him. “As long as you don’t try to leave the castle’s grounds. You’re a prisoner, after all. This will be your room,” she added, stopping in front of a door.

Castiel stared at her, but she remained still, with that shadow of a smirk still in her face until he grabbed the doorknob and took a step inside.

The room was bigger than the one he had at the cottage. In fact, it was probably bigger than the cottage itself. It had a desk with books and a vase full of flowers, and an enormous bed with posts. The windows were just as large, but they had curtains he could draw if he wanted to. Castiel took two steps in before realizing he was walking on a soft carpet with some very complicated patterns.

“What do you think?” the Beast asked him.

“It’s… everything looks so… new,” he said, frowning. It was true: the furniture glimmered like it had just been varnished. The curtains and the bed sheets, as far as he could tell, looked like they were fresh out of the weaver’s loom.

“Of course it’s new,” she replied. “I just made it for you. I figured you’d be more comfortable here than in a dark dungeon deep underneath the castle.”

Castiel turned towards, confused. Why would she care about his comfort?

A second later, he decided she must have been playing with him because she tilted her head and added:

“But if you’d prefer the dungeon…”

“No!” Castiel said, a little too fast. “I… this is very generous of you. Thank you.”

He felt like he had passed some sort of test, because the little smirk in her lips disappeared. Instead, she was once again staring at him with curiosity.

“Dinner’s at eight,” she indicated him. “You can freshen up and rest until then. You’ll find appropriate clothes size in the wardrobe. Make yourself presentable. You’ll be dining with me after all.”

Castiel hadn’t eaten anything since the night before, but still, the mere thought of having to stare at those infinite black eyes during an entire meal made him lose his appetite.

“Do I have to?” he asked before he realized what he was saying. “I mean, I… why would you want to have dinner with me?”

This time the smirk on her face was really noticeable.

“I don’t have much chances of entertainment here,” she confessed. “And your repulsion amuses me greatly. Until tonight, Castiel.”

She turned around and left him alone with his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Anna’s voice was calling him for breakfast. She sounded angry. Had he overslept again? He needed to get up and run, or Mr. Singer would be mad at him for being late. Well, they couldn’t really blame him, if they knew about the dream he’d just had.

Castiel raised his head, and looked around, blinking in confusion. He had drawn the curtains before sinking in the bed so the sun wouldn’t bother him… but what sun? They were in the middle of winter.

It still took his brain several minutes to catch up, and when it did, he sank his face in his hands. He was prisoner of a voluble Beast that saw him only as “entertainment”, and though she had promised not to kill him, there were many ways in which she could make his life miserable. The mention of the dungeon had been both to mock him and to warn him, he was certain of it.

And she was powerful. Powerful enough to create a perfect summer day and grow perfect roses when everything should be cold and dead. Who knew what else was she capable of doing?

Castiel lifted his head. There was an idea.

But he needed to be very careful in executing it.

The clock over the desk indicated him he still had an hour before dinner, so he prepared: he found a small mirror and a razor in a leather dressing case, and shaved the stubble that had formed over his cheeks. The clothes in the wardrobe were luxurious and just his size, if a little old-fashioned. He chose a blue vest, a light brown long waistcoat, and black shoes. He wished he had a larger mirror to see the full effect of his outfit, because he felt positively regal wearing those clothes. For a moment, he imagined Michael’s envy at all the luxury he was surrounded with.

Then he remembered at what price it came.

He left his room fifteen minutes before dinner time because he was certain he was going to get lost, but he shouldn’t have bothered. He found the stairs fairly quickly even though he was sure the walk down the hall that morning had been longer. After he was downstairs, finding the dining room was easy: all he had to do was turn to the right and push the elegant double doors.

The Beast was already sitting in a table that was exaggeratedly large for only two people. It was covered with plates and fonts, and bottles of wine and jars of beer. The delicious smell of a well-cooked steak reached Castiel’s nostrils, and his stomach, ignoring the terrible situation he was in, began grumbling.

“Good night, Castiel,” she greeted him, and again there was that mocking tone in her voice. “Sit down. We’re just starting.”

Castiel could have easily picked a seat at the other end of the table, but he decided that would work against his plan. So he gathered up whatever courage he had left and walked up to sit right by her side. If she was surprised by that, she made no comments about it, and her face showed no changes. Of course, it was impossible to see any emotions in her scaly face. Not that he wanted to look at her for that long, but looking at the several creatures in the tapestries wasn’t much better.

“Have at it,” she said, making a gesture towards the food. “I eat very little, really, but my cooks make a special effort whenever we have guests.”

She laughed to herself, like it was some sort of private joke. Castiel figured it was, because the castle was far too quiet and calm for there to be other people there. They were alone. He was alone against her.

“Well? Aren’t you hungry?” she insisted when Castiel didn’t move.

Immediately, he grabbed the pincers and started filling his plate: there was meat, and fish, and vegetables, and even a pot full of smoking rice. Castiel hadn’t had a meal like that in years, and despite his uneasiness at the Beast’s presence, he couldn’t help but to wolf down half of it in one go, while she poured wine over and over from a jar that apparently never emptied. The glass looked ridiculously tiny in her claws.

“You’re enjoying the feast, I take it,” she commented, with a chuckle.

“Yes, this is… really wonderful,” Castiel said. “But if I may ask you a question?”

“You just did,” she pointed out. She gulped down her glass and looked at him again. “But you may ask another.”

Castiel thought about his words for a moment before going for it.

“How does this all work?” he asked. “You said you had just created my room, and there are clearly no cooks or servants in the castle. So how is it we’re eating this food?”

“Because I wished so,” the Beast replied. “The castle and everything in it answer to my very whim.”

“Only to your whim?” Castiel wanted to know. “Excuse me, it’s just that when I entered I was thinking how I would like some water, and the water appeared…”

“The castle senses that you’re a guest and it will try its best to accommodate you,” she explained. “That’s why the clothes in your room are exactly your size, for example.”

“So it’s an enchanted castle? It has a will on its own?”

“A rudimentary will,” she shrugged. “And of course, it’s subdued to mine.”

Castiel nodded and took note that she didn’t seem annoyed at his questions. Maybe it was because she hadn’t had someone to talk to for so long.

“Does that apply to the weather, too?” he continued to ask. She nodded simply, as she slid a finger on the edge of her glass. “You must be very powerful, then.”

“I am,” she said, rising her chin up in the air. She looked slightly flattered.

“So you can do anything you want?” Castiel kept asking. “Anything at all?”

“Within reason,” she replied. “There are limits not even the most powerful sorcerer can cross.”

“Such as?”

For the first time in the conversation she stared directly at him, and he had to hold on to his chair.

“Why do you ask?” she snapped.

“I… I’m curious,” Castiel said, trying to sound sincere. “I like learning.”

She stared at him for another moment, and the poured herself some more wine.

“There are three forces in the world that won’t bend to any magic, no matter how powerful,” she explained. “The first one is time. You can cheat yourself or others to perceive time as sped up or slowed down, but it’s only an illusion. It can’t be turned back. And you can’t jump forwards and skip something unpleasant that’s happening to you either. We are irremediably trapped in the present.”

Castiel nodded. That made sense. He had read a story or two about time-travelers, and the never ended happily.

“The second force is love,” she continued telling him. “There are potions and charms that can cause a person to experience the sensation of being attracted or attached to someone, but is always temporary. True, everlasting love can’t be faked, or replicated.”

She scoffed, almost as she was repeating a lesson she’d learnt but didn’t agree with.

“Of course only fools and children believe in true love at all,” she added.

“I assume you consider yourself neither of those things,” Castiel replied.

He couldn’t help it. It was just… her disdain for the topic of love was so hilarious he couldn’t help it. Of course, the second her eyes were back on him, he regretted it.

“Are you mocking me, Castiel?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Castiel said, lowering his gaze. “And what’s the third force?”

“Death,” she replied. “Magic can prolong your life decades, centuries even, and it can bring people back from the brink of it, but those who’ve already crossed the Veil are lost to us forever.”

Her voice trailed off. She was no longer looking at Castiel, but staring into a point over the table, pensively. If Castiel was reading her expression accurately, which he didn’t really think he was capable of doing, he would have said she looked almost… sad. Like she was lost in the memory of days long lost to her. He didn’t say a word until she turned her head towards him (he had to move backwards to avoid being hit by her horn).

“Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Greatly,” Castiel said, with a thankful nod. “But other than that, you can do whatever you please within this castle?”

“Why are you asking that again?”

“Forgive me, it’s just… I find it a little hard to believe.”

There. The bait was thrown; it was a matter of seeing if she took it.

Slowly, she left her glass over the table.

“Are you saying I lie?” she asked.

“No, of course not,” Castiel replied, opening his eyes wide to look as innocent as possible. “You said those forces are limits to every sorcerer. I’m just thinking… perhaps you believe yourself so powerful because you haven’t discovered your own limits.”

“I am unlimited here!” she replied, obviously offended that Castiel would doubt her word. “Anything that’s possible to do with magic, I can do it. Try me.”

Castiel had to think fast.

“Can you… conjure up desserts to this table?” he asked. “At this very moment?”

Without saying a word, the Beast stood up and walked around until she was standing right in front of him.

“What would you like?” she asked.

Castiel caressed his chin for a moment.

“Chocolate cake,” he requested. “But not _any_ chocolate cake. There’s a bakery in my town. Widow Harvelle runs it, and she makes a very special cake, covered with cream and strawberries and a secret ingredient she won’t reveal to anyone. I don’t know what it is, but it makes her cakes taste different from any other cake I have ever tried. If you can make a piece of that cake appear right here…”

The Beast made a gesture with her hand towards a covered plate that Castiel could have sworn it hadn’t been there before. When he uncovered it, he found the cake he had asked for, but it wasn’t _it_ exactly. It looked rounder and fatter than any of the cakes Widow Harvelle could have ever prepared. The chocolate practically glistened, and the strawberries on top were enormous and had a vivid red color, like they had just been harvested.

The Beast picked up a knife, and with a smug smile, she cut out a generous piece and offered it to Castiel along with a silver spoon. One time, he had seen a travelling magician performing his tricks, gesticulating dramatically as he performed his tricks to distract the audience. Her movements reminded Castiel of him.

“Try it out,” she said, pushing the plate towards him. It was almost a challenge.

Castiel already knew what it was going to taste like, but he still took a spoonful of it and put it in his mouth. It was _exactly_ like Widow Harvelle’s cake, just as tasty, if a tiny bit sweeter.

“Well?” she asked after he had swallowed. “Are you convinced I can do whatever I please now?”

“It is impressive,” Castiel admitted, pensively putting the spoon down. “But I still believe that your power must have some sort of limit besides the ones you’ve mentioned. I… would like to propose a bet, if it’s okay to you.”

He couldn’t have said if it was an effect of the lights, but he thought her eyes suddenly glistened.

“Oh?” she asked, with interested. “I’m listening.”

“I will propose something for you to do every day,” Castiel said. “Something that will require you to use your powers as well as your imagination, to see if I can come up with something that is out of your reach.”

“And why would you do that?”

“To keep you entertained,” Castiel replied, calmly. “Isn’t that what you wish of me?”

The Beast stared at him for a long time, and then she laughed again.

“Alright, you’ve caught my interest,” she said. “And in the improbable case you find something impossible for me to do? What do you win?”

“My freedom,” Castiel replied, perhaps a little too fast for her not to realize he had already been planning this. “If I find something that can’t do, you will let me go.”

“A bold little bluebird, are we?” she said, but again she didn’t seem annoyed by it. She grabbed her glass of wine again. “Very well, let’s play your game, Castiel. Make sure I don’t get bored.”

Castiel was glad she looked away while she drank, because then she didn’t see him swallowing heavily, and how his hands trembled when he put down the spoon. Suddenly his stomach had become a tightly tied knot, because the truth he didn’t think he’d get this far, and now he was in a position to try and win a game that was rigged against him from the start.

But he had to try, he reminded himself. He had to escape this castle and get back to his family as soon as possible. He took a deep breath, and sank his spoon on the cake again.

“Enjoying that?” the Beast asked. Castiel had the impression she was prodding him a bit.

“Yes, it’s very good,” he said.

“I’m glad,” she replied, standing up. “Well, I think I’ll tuck in for the night. I suggest you do the same. After all, you have to keep a rested mind if you want to come up with something challenging.”

This time, Castiel was sure she was making fun of him. But then again, he thought as he watched the back of her dress disappeared through the door, she wasn’t wrong.

 

* * *

 

The clock over his desk indicated it was eleven sharp when he woke up. He didn’t remember sleeping in that late since he was very young and he had a day free. To his surprise, he actually felt rested and a lot more relaxed than the night before. It might have something to do with not having a pair of black, unblinking eyes following each of his movements.

He got dressed and left the room, only for his steps to guide him back to the stairs and into the dining room again. It was just as unnecessarily ample as the day before, and the chairs were just as empty. But instead of candles in the chandelier, it was illuminated by the sun bursting in through the windows. The wall hangings on the walls looked a lot less sinister in the daylight, or maybe it was that the Beast wasn’t there staring at him with those unnerving eyes. Castiel was beginning to learn Beast liked to have as much light coming as possible.

The breakfast was served: smoking coffee, spongy bread, fruit juice and all the jams anyone could ask for.

“Oh, I don’t really like jam,” Castiel said out loud, not sure to who or why. “I… find it unsettling. If I could have some butter instead, please?”

He wasn’t sure anything happened, but when he looked down again, the jam had been replaced by the yellowest butter he’d ever seen, complete with a little silver knife so he could spread it on the bread.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, still not sure who he was talking to.

He waited a little longer before he started, but it was clear the Beast had no plans of joining him.

Although he shouldn’t call her “Beast” to her face, he reflected as he ate. Maybe she had a name she would prefer. He would ask her about it later, when he saw her.

After he had devoured his breakfast, he realized there was not much for him to do there, except, maybe trying to come up with a challenge.

“I don’t suppose you could suggest something?” he told the castle.

He didn’t get any answer, of course, or if he did, it wasn’t he could understand.

Well, his father used to say that a stroll after a generous meal helped him digest, so Castiel supposed he could take a walk around the castle grounds. After all, he would still be technically inside the Beast’s territory.

The sun outside was blindingly bright. There were some birds singing on the trees, and he thought he saw some squirrels running up several trunks. He wondered if those creatures had wandered in from the forest if the Beast had wished them there as well. The grass seemed so soft he was almost tempted to take off his shoes and walk barefoot over it.

But the thing that looked more amazing was the different flower beds carefully cultivated all over the garden. There were irises, pansies, lilies, marigolds, all a perfect specimen, all prim and colorful under the sky. As he walked around, he found the hedge maze, and the rose bushes his father had cut his rose from. He took one in his hand (delicately, he didn’t want the Beast to think he was about to hurt her garden) and leaned over to smell it. The scent was sweet and intense.

Everything was intense in the castle, he realized: the flavors, the smells, the colors. Like he had spent his whole life with his senses numb, and only now he knew what they could really perceive.

“Admiring my roses, Castiel?” a voice asked behind him.

Castiel had a sensation of déjà vu, of having experienced that before. He almost expected to see the princess with her dress made of night-sky sat in the bench when he turned, but of course, there was only the Beast, with her ruined pink dress she apparently refused to take off.

“They’re beautiful,” Castiel said, sincerely. “They don’t have a single speck of rust. How do you get them to be so… perfect?”

“I tend to them myself,” the Beast replied, crossing her legs. “With magic, of course. Why did you ask your father for a rose?”

The question bewildered Castiel a little. Up until this point, the Beast had only shown a marginal interest in him, as if his presence was of no more interest to her that it would be that of a new pet or an unwelcome guest. Now she was staring at him, with those unsettling eyes, giving him her undivided attention.

“Why do you ask that?”

“You asked me a question, I think it’s fair I get to ask you one,” she replied with a shrug. “Why was that rose so important to you?”

Castiel thought about telling her how he didn’t really expect his father to find him a rose or even a seed, but he figured that would answer her question.

“My mother had a rose garden she loved very much,” he said. “She passed away a few years back. They remind me of her.”

“You must have really loved her.”

“Well, she was a difficult woman to love,” Castiel replied, without even thinking about it. Then he felt the need to clarify: “That is to say, she was very strict, and had a terrible temper. I can’t count how many times the servants fled our house in fear after disobeying one of her orders. One time, my sister and I spent the morning collecting tadpoles and went back home with our clothes full of mud. She yelled at us for hours and then ground us to stay inside for the rest of the summer.”

“Sounds harsh.”

“For a ten year old, it was the cruelest thing she could have done,” Castiel said. “It took me a long time to realize why she was like that: my father worked all the time, so she had to take care of both the house and us, and we didn’t make her job any easier. She always looked so… upset. Tense. Except when she tended to her roses. Then her features softened and she was… so sweet and patient. I felt like the only times I could really talk to her was when she was in her garden. One time she told me one of the biggest disappointments in her life was to discover blue roses didn’t exist…”

He stopped talking. Suddenly a brilliant idea had come to him. He turned towards the Beast, slowly.

“Could you make that?” he asked, and then he reformulated the question: “Can you cultivate a blue rose?”

“Yes, I can,” she said. But she made no attempts of getting up or approaching the bushes.

“Well?” Castiel asked after a few seconds.

“Oh, I can’t do it _right now_ ,” she replied. “It will take me some time to make it. The bushes can be quite temperamental when I try to change something all of the sudden. And in any case, you didn’t say there would be a time limit for your little challenges.”

Castiel bit the inside of his cheek. Somehow he felt like he’d just been cheated, but in all honesty, she was right. He should have established the rules more clearly.

“Fair enough,” he sighed. “Then I will patiently wait for your progress.”

The Beast smirked at him, obviously satisfied. Castiel thought she was about to mock him again, but instead she said:

“Would you like to see the daffodils? They’re by the lake.”

“There’s a lake?”

“Of course there’s a lake,” she replied. Castiel suspected that if there wasn’t a lake before, there was now. “Come on.”

Castiel walked fast to catch up with her.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I don’t know your name.”

“Why would you need to know that?” he asked, with a dismissing gesture.

“To call you if I ever can’t find you,” he explained. “That’s what people use names for.”

“Well, I haven’t had anyone that needed to call me in a very long time,” she replied, with a shrug. “You may call me what you like.”

Castiel reflected about it for several seconds while they walked the castle grounds. Finally they reached an artificial lake of crystalline surrounded by daffodils, just as she had promised. Two swans swam happily on it, and there was a rowboat parked on the side. The Beast looked very pleased at Castiel’s astonishment.

“This is like something out of a tale,” he commented. And just like that, he had an idea: “Meg,” he said. “I will call you Meg. It was the name of a princess I read about in a book.”

“What, you think I’m a princess?” she asked laughing.

“Well, you live in a castle,” Castiel said, suddenly thinking that his reasons for choosing that name were very stupid. “If you don’t like it…”

“No,” she interrupted him. “I don’t care. You may call me Meg, if you like.”

She wasn’t looking at him when she said it, but he still got the impression that she was smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

The night had fallen several hours before, and Anna supposed she should be getting ready to sleep, but she couldn’t and she wouldn’t until the search party came back. The dinner she had optimistically prepared was cold and untouched in the pot, and the fire in the chimney had almost gone out. Anna added another log and wrapped herself in a blanket before sitting down right next to the window.

It had been many days now since Castiel had disappeared. At first, the town in its entirety had been on board with going out to look for him, though they had been quickly discourage by the lack of traces to follow.

“We’ve followed his footprints deep into the woods,” John Winchester told her. “After a certain point, they vanish. If there had been a lake or a cliff, I would have wagered that he fell on them, but there’s nothing of the sort in miles around.”

Anna had looked at her potential father in law with desperation. She had no reason to doubt his word, because everybody knew he had been an expert huntsman when he was younger, before buying the town’s tavern along with his wife. But what he was saying just shouldn’t be possible.

“How?” she asked. “How can a man just… disappear?”

“We don’t know,” Sam, Dean’s brother and John’s younger son, said. “If he passed out from the cold or the hunger, at least his body should be somewhere. There’s no sign of struggle, so we don’t think a pack of wolves caught him…”

“Thank you, Sammy,” Dean interrupted him. Sam must have realized the horror in Anna’s expression, because he went quiet immediately. “Anna,” Dean put a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

Anna tried to smile at him, but her concern for Castiel prevented her from doing it. Her suitor had been more than supportive during this entire ordeal, convincing his reclusive father to come out to help and rallying the men of the town for help. She knew that if they were receiving any help at all, it was thanks to the Winchesters, because anyone listening to his father’s cries would think the entire family lost their minds.

“It’s the Beast,” Carver cried out, sometimes even when the search parties were there, with maps of the woods trying to think of the best way to canvass the areas. “The Beast took him away with her magic, and now we’ll never see him again.”

“Okay, Pops,” Gabriel said in those occasions. “I think it’s time that you get some rest.”

And he proceeded to drag him inside of one of the rooms or outside the tavern or served him another drink to shut him up. Anna thanked him for it, because she didn’t think she could deal with his ramblings.

Michael didn’t say much, but he had taken up to drinking almost as much as their father did. Only one time he broke and confessed what he was thinking to Anna:

“It was my fault,” he said. “I saw him going out of the cabin that night, but I didn’t say anything… I didn’t stop him… whatever happened to him, it’s my fault…”

“Michael, it’s not your fault,” Anna interrupted him. “It’s not. I don’t know what got into Cas’ mind to do something like that, but it wasn’t because of you. You’ll see. When we find him, he’ll tell you too.”

Michael had looked at her with bloodshot eyes and pure skepticism. Anna knew exactly what he was thinking: unless Castiel had found refuge against the cold somewhere, it was likely that Sam was right to say they should be looking for his body.

However, she kept hoping against all hope, first that Castiel was alive, then that they would at least find out what had happened to him. But as the winter became crueler and the traces grew colder, the men of the town had decided there were many useful things that they could be doing with their.

The cold season was at its peak now, and the search party had been reduced to just four men: Michael and the Winchesters, who were probably still going out to humor Dean, who was certainly just trying to humor Anna. Not one of them believed the wood was going to provide any answers.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Anna saw the lights coming back and stood up to run towards the door. The four horsemen stopped by the cottage’s door, and Anna didn’t need them to say a word to know it had been another futile search: she could see it in their tired faces and their slumped shoulders.

“Come on in,” she invited them, because that was the least she could do, but John shook his head.

“I’m sorry, girl, but Mary must need our help in the tavern,” he said.

“Gabriel is helping her…” Anna said, weakly. Obviously, what John meant wasn’t that his wife need them, but that he wanted to go home, see her, dine at his own table. She could hardly blame him for it.

“I’ll stay,” Dean offered, dismounting. “You tell mom I’ll go later.”

John opened his mouth to protest, but Sam put a hand on his arm, and shook his head. A few seconds later, the clatter of their horses’ steps disappeared down the street. Anna turned towards Michael.

“Do you…?”

“I have something to do,” Michael answered with a somber glance. And without another word, he also disappeared into the night.

Anna allowed herself of confusion and anguish before turning towards Dean.

“Maybe I should…” he muttered, pointing at his horse. Anna was about to ask him why when she realized it was probably not appropriate for her to be alone with a suitor at that hour of the night.

But it was cold, and she missed Castiel, and she couldn’t care less what people thought. She didn’t want to be alone that night.

“Come on in,” she invited him. “I’ll reheat the soup.”

Dean sat very stiff in his chair until Anna brought the bowl of soup for him. He thanked her and took a hesitant spoonful into his mouth. And then another, and another. In less than two seconds, he had emptied the entire plate.

“Could I… have another?” he asked, with eyes wide open that almost reminded Anna of a little child.

“Of course,” she said, suppressing her laughter. “I made enough to feed everybody, but I guess…”

She went quiet, unable to finish that thought. Dean was looking at her with something akin to pity when she came back to the table with more soup for him.

“I’m sorry we haven’t found him,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’ve tried talking my dad into going to another part of the woods, but…”

“Dean,” Anna interrupted him. “It’s fine. I know you’ve been pushing yourselves and with the weather it’s getting dangerous…”

She stopped. She realized she had been seeing Dean on daily basis, and he had not once brought up the marriage proposal. And she had not once thanked him for everything he’d been doing.

She opened her mouth to do just that, but Dean drank up the last of the soup and extended the bowl towards her once more.

“Could I…?”

“Are you a bottomless pit?” Anna asked, perplexed that he was still hungry. Dean’s face reddened quickly.

“I just, uh… I like your soup,” he stammered, scratching the back of his head.

“Well, you’d be the first,” Anna laughed, taking the bowl. “My dad and my brothers always complain about my food.”

“Really? ‘Cause I think it’s delicious,” Dean insisted as Anna pushed the third bowl towards him. “I really do.”

Anna just stared at him in silence, and apparently, that inhibited Dean enough for him to stop eating.

“What?” he asked, shifting nervously in the chair.

“Just, uh… wondering if you would tell me,” Anna said. “If you didn’t like my food.”

She didn’t say “when we’re married” but the implication floated between them nonetheless. Dean put down his spoon.

“Well, my mother doesn’t let anyone complain about her food,” he commented. “So, I guess…”

Anna reflected about it and then shook her head.

“No, I want you to tell me,” she decided. “I want you to always tell me the truth.”

“Very well,” Dean nodded. “The soup’s actually too salty, but I’m starving.”

He side-glanced her, almost like he expected her to go off. Anna just looked at him for a long time, and then she burst out laughing uncontrollably. It was only later that she realized it was the first time she had done so since Castiel had gone missing.

 

* * *

 

As the weeks went by, Castiel discovered two fundamental things about Meg: she was a show-off, and she hadn’t had anyone to show off to in a very, very long time.

“Can you have music in here?” he asked one time.

Meg simply took a sip from her goblet as the sounds of violins and a piano melody invaded the air.

“Can you make figures in the clouds?”

“Really, is that the best you can come up with?” Meg asked, rolling her eyes as the clouds piled up behind her and started to contort and change.

“Can you tell the animals to do what you want?” Castiel asked, only to find a bluebird coming to rest on his shoulder a second later.

Usually, he didn’t see her when he woke up (no matter if he woke up at dawn or past midday), but he could absolutely count on her showing up unexpectedly and silently behind him when he was least expecting it. She snickered at his surprise, and Castiel kept waiting for the day where she would appear in all her majesty with thunder and lightning accompanying her.

“Of course, I could absolutely do that,” she commented, when Castiel expressed those feelings out loud. He laughed, completely convinced she was joking with that strange sense of humor he had discovered she had.

Until the next day, in which he was taking a stroll next to the lake and the loudest thunder startled him so much he fell to the water. Luckily, Meg was there to grab his hand and pull him out.

“Why did you do that?” Castiel asked ten minutes later, when they were by the fire and he was underneath several thick covers Meg conjured up from thin air.

“You told me to,” she answered, clearly irritated, as she wrapped another cover around Castiel’s shoulders.

“That wasn’t a challenge!”

“Well, you should have been more specific about it,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “How was I supposed to know that?”

If Castiel had been a little calmer and a little drier, perhaps he could have seen how ridiculous that discussion was, and maybe he would have advised himself not to continue it. But he was humiliated and pretty certain that he was going to catch a cold at any moment, so he didn’t let it go.

“Aren’t you supposed to be ancient and terrible and all-knowing?” he spat. “Someone like you should know better than to scare people who are walking near lakes!”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t be clearer in your ridiculous demands,” she said, her voice getting a little louder, which, if Castiel had been thinking instead of letting his emotions run wild, should have been a warning. “You’re like a child who just asks and asks until everything he wishes for has been fulfilled.”

“Then you’re like a child too, my lady,” Castiel replied, imprinting all the sarcasm he could in the last two words. “You’re capricious and cruel, and will throw a tantrum if something you don’t like dares to happen in your presence.”

“Enough!” she shouted, punching the wall at her side. Some debris floated down, and when she moved her hand away, there was a hole the size of her fist on the stone.

Castiel stood up, shedding the covers down.

“Good night, Beast,” he said. He hoped she assumed his voice trembled because of the cold, not the fear of having been reminded exactly how powerful she was.

He turned around and left the room, marching up the stairs without looking behind, even when she called his name. Once in his room, he sat down on the bed, waiting for his heart to stop pounding so loudly. It had been a trifle, but he never expected her to react that way. He had never seen Meg irritated and scornful before, but never angry, and finding out just what she was capable of in that state was terrifying. And he had walked on her after calling her that, she would probably still be furious the next day.

For a moment, he wondered if he should stay in his room, but he decided against it. If she was still angry, she could throw him in a dungeon if she wanted to, he didn’t care. But he refused to be intimidated or terrorized.

The following day, amazingly, he did find Meg in the dining room when he went down for his breakfast. She was sitting in a chair in front of the chimney, with her hand on her chin, looking reflectively at the hole in the wall. For some reason, Castiel had the impression she had been there all night.

“Good morning, Castiel,” she said without even looking at him.

“My lady Meg,” he replied, carefully. He still didn’t know in what kind of mood she was, but the fact she hadn’t lashed out at him seemed to be a good signal.

“You’re a strange little thing,” she commented, distantly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have been alone in this castle for a very long time, doing as I please without anyone here to judge me,” she explained. “And then you come along and stare at me with those blue eyes, and suddenly I feel ashamed. Going off for such a stupid little argument… you said it yourself, I’m greater than that. I shouldn’t act like I did.”

She stood up from her chair and looked directly at Castiel’s face.

“I’m… sorry,” she said. It was like she almost choked in the last word.

“Apology accepted,” Castiel said, with a little inclination. “But I should also admit, I… was being irrational about nothing in particular. The truth is, I felt ridiculous… falling in the lake like that… it was humiliating.”

“It was funny how you waved your arms,” Meg said. “And the way you scared the ducks.”

Castiel felt the blood rushing to his face, but he still couldn’t help but let a small smile appear in his lips… but the effect was greatly diminished by the sneeze he suddenly let out.

“Oh,” Meg said taking a step towards him.

“It’s fine,” Castiel said. “It’s just a…”

A clawed hand came to rest on his forehead. Castiel did the best he could suppress a shudder, but she noticed his discomfort, because she immediately stopped.

“I have medicinal herbs in the garden,” she said. “Or did I get rid of those? No matter, I’ll have some more by the end of the day.”

“Meg…”

“Have your breakfast and then go back to bed,” she ordered him. “We can have that cold getting any worse.”

She left the room before Castiel could stop her.

He sat and stared at his breakfast for a very long time. The ghost of her touch lingered over her skin. Her scales were cold and rough, like a thousand tiny stones glued together. He knew they were strong beyond anything he could imagine, he knew they could destroy him if he wished so. But when she’d touched him, she had been delicately, caring, almost as if she didn’t want to scare him.

Meg showed up again not five minutes later, carrying a cup of tea and announcing happily that she still had her garden of herbs after all. Then she had put the cup on Castiel’s hand (making s special point not to touch him again, or so he thought) and ordered he drank it to avoid his cold getting any worse.

“I don’t think this is necessary…”

“Humor me,” she insisted. “Remember that if you get any sicker, I’m the only one who can tend to you.”

Castiel was about to say what would be so bad about that when he remembered how he had reacted with repulse to her contact. He meant to tell her it wasn’t because of what she was, that she had caught him by surprise and that he didn’t mean to make her feel rejected. But Meg obviously was making a point not to bring that up, so he obediently drank the tea instead.

She was mercurial like that, but most of the time, he believe she made an effort to make him feel welcome in the castle, even if she didn’t exactly know how.

“It’s a beautiful day outside,” Castiel commented one time, staring outside of the window of the dining room.

“It’s always a beautiful day outside,” she said. She was sitting in her favorite chair in front of the chimney, with a book. “I make sure of it.”

Castiel had been tempted to ask what she was reading, but it clearly had to be very interesting because she hadn’t said a word in the last half an hour until his comment. He suspected there was a library somewhere in the castle. Whenever it perceived he was bored, a book appeared on the night table by his bed, and dutifully disappeared when he finished it. They had to be coming from somewhere, just as the food and the wine came from somewhere, and he imagined they return to that place afterwards.

He had ended with the latest one the castle had provided him with that morning, a thrilling tale of a sailor and his several adventures in fantastic islands, and now he had nothing to read unless Meg shared her book with him or stroke up a conversation with him, which was exactly what Castiel was trying to get her to do. She hadn’t caught the hint, so Castiel was more direct this time:

“Perhaps we can have tea in the garden,” he said. “Like a picnic.”

Meg put the book down.

“Why?”

“What’s the point of living in perpetual summer if you stay inside?” Castiel replied.

Meg finally tilted her head in his direction.

“You’re not going to stop insisting, are you?”

“Probably not,” he admitted.

She sighed and pointed at the table. Despite always following her movements, Castiel still couldn’t see how she conjured up things from thin air. This time, it was a wicker basket covered in a red cloth. Meg stood up, with the hem of her dress waving around her feet.

“Well, come on, then,” she said.

Castiel grabbed the basket, and as always, had to trot to keep up with her pace.

He extended the cloth near the lake. The swans had returned, and they were peacefully swimming around without a care in the world.

“Are they bound to the castle?” Castiel asked. Meg, who had sat down on the cloth and opened her book again, looked at him like she had no idea what he meant. “The animals, I mean. Are they bound to the castle and your will like everything else?”

“No,” she said. “Usually they just find their way in here completely at random. They stay because they find food easily and they like the weather.”

“Don’t their population grow too much?”

“I make sure it doesn’t,” she shrugged.

Castiel laughed quietly.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, looking at him over the pages of her book.

“I was just thinking,” Castiel said. “You made yourself a small paradise in here.”

Meg stared at him like she didn’t know what to answer to that, then lowered her gaze to the book. Castiel decided not to bother her any further.

The basket contained a number of things he didn’t think they could all fit in, but of course they did: two cups with their respective plates and little spoons, a teapot with hot water inside and a sugar bowl, all of the most delicate porcelain. Castiel poured the tea and offered a cup to Meg, who graciously accepted it. However, when he tried to do the same with a piece of the cake to accompany it (Widow Harvelle’s chocolate special, in fact), she shook her head.

“I can’t eat that sort of thing,” she said. “It makes me nauseous.”

“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you eat,” Castiel commented. It was true: she usually joined him for dinner, but she limited herself to her glass and her jar of wine (he had never seen her get drunk either, in fact, no matter how much she drank). “What do you eat?”

“That’s a question I’d rather not answer, little bluebird,” she said, so Castiel changed the subject:

“Why summer?”

“I don’t always have summer,” she said. “Occasionally I get bored and allow spring to happen. I find the sound of the rain… soothing.”

“Me too,” Castiel said. “Especially if you are in front of a raging fire, safe at home.”

His tone had come out bleaker than he intended, but he couldn’t help it. He had everything he could wish for there in the castle, and it wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but he still couldn’t avoid thinking of his family. How they were. What they thought might have happened to him.

He refused to let those gloomy thoughts catch him, so he asked Meg:

“But can you have winter here?” he said. “A proper winter, with snow, and winds, and cold?”

“I dislike the cold.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Castiel replied.

Meg sighed and looked at him with a little grimace of exasperation.

“The roses are not going to like this,” she warned him.

She kept sipping her tea calmly, and at first Castiel didn’t notice anything, but as he ate his cake and watched the swans sliding over the water, he realized the sunlight had become slightly dimmer. By the time they ended their tea and Meg suggested they headed back to the castle, the temperature had dropped so slowly that Castiel didn’t notice he was shivering until they were climbing the stairs. By the time they closed the door behind them, there were angry, grey clouds completely covering the sky.

“Amazing,” Castiel said. “But that’s not exactly winter yet.”

“I told you, some magic tricks take more time than others,” Meg replied. “And besides, I want to give the animals and the plants some time to get used to it and take cover.”

Castiel considered that was pretty sensible.

The night fell, but the sun had been gone for so long that it didn’t make any difference, and by the time dinner was served, there were furious thunder and some lightning flashing in the distance. Castiel stared out the window, fascinated, as a thick pouring rain fell over the castle grounds, with enormous and heavy droplets tapping and rapping on the glass in front of him.

“The storm will gain intensity as the night goes by,” Meg told him. “It’ll become a blizzard soon enough, and you’ll have your winter day tomorrow.”

“That’s incredible,” Castiel said, unable to hide his amazement. “Meg, that is… I can’t believe that you’re so powerful…”

“Nature is powerful,” Meg replied, standing up and going to the stand next to him to look outside. “I just… give her a nudge here and there. Now, come on. The food’s getting cold, and I imagine you’ll want to go to bed early…”

“Go to bed? On a night like this?” Castiel shook his head. He was scandalized that Meg would even suggest it. “Of course not. On stormy nights, my family… well, we haven’t done it in a while,” he admitted, his joy disappearing slightly at the thought.

“Yes?” Meg insisted. “What did your family do?”

Castiel looked up again, and decided the sad memories weren’t going to hold him back.

“We gathered around the fire, with a mug of hot chocolate for each,” he said, pointing at the fireplace with the two chairs Meg kept in front of it. “And we told stories. Those were the only occasions in which Mother allowed us to stay up late and to have something sweet before bed. She loved stories too, although she never told one.”

“Sounds like a lovely costume,” Meg said, and Castiel had been living there long enough to know she wasn’t being sarcastic. “Would you like to do it now?”

“Can we?” Castiel asked, his eyes shooting wide open. “Oh, yes, please. I would love to.”

“Let’s, then,” Meg said, making a gesture towards the chimney. A raging fire started burning over the logs, and when Castiel looked at Meg to thank her, she had two mugs of chocolate in her hand.

“This is wonderful,” he said, as he sat on one of the armchairs and tasted the chocolate. “I haven’t done this in a very long time.”

“So what kind of stories are you supposed to tell?” she asked.

“All sorts of stories,” Castiel answered. “They can be fun stories, or family stories, or stories we made up. I’m sure you know many, why don’t you start?”

Meg scoffed and for a moment, Castiel was certain she was going to say no, but then she put her mug down and started gesturing towards the fire, that became even lighter and started spitting smoke into the room. With a few movements of Meg hands, the smoke started taking strange forms in the air: spirals, and flowers, and trees… until they melted together to form the image of a horse with a horn coming out of its head, trotting in the air in front of them.

“Once upon a time, there was a unicorn,” Meg started. “He was a magnificent and free creature, who lived in the forest, away from prying human eyes. It wasn’t rare, however, that he was chased by hunters who wanted to kill him and take his horn, for it was said it had magical properties. When ground into a fine powder, it might cure any and all illnesses.”

“And did it?” Castiel asked.

“How am I supposed to know?” Meg asked, irritated. “I’ve never seen a unicorn. May I go on?”

“Yes, please. Sorry.”

“The unicorn was clever. He had an acute sight that could spot any hunter hidden among the leaves, and a sense of smell that alerted him of any enemy miles around. He knew that as long as he remained in his forest, the hunters would never catch him. But one day, as he was travelling through his domains, the unicorn saw a beautiful maiden picking up flowers by the stream,” Meg moved her hand again. Another smoke figurine appeared, this time of a girl kneeling in front of the unicorn.

“What was so special about her?” Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes at the figure.

“Well, she might not have been that beautiful,” Meg admitted. “She might just have been the only maiden the unicorn ever saw. The case is he was so mesmerized by her that he went to her and leaned his head on her warm lap. She smiled… and he was lost.”

The unicorn figurine trotted towards the girl, and did exactly as Meg had indicated. Castiel smiled like a fool. He didn’t really think this would be the kind of story Meg would tell, but he was certainly enjoying it.

“The maiden weaved flowers in his hair, and he told her that if she lived with him, he would teach her about the secret paths in his forest, he would always find the sweetest honey for her to eat, he would make a home for her in the hollow trunk of a great elm, and together they would live there in perfect happiness. He asked her to marry him, and she said yes.”

“He must have been so happy!” Castiel exclaimed, delighted.

“Oh, he was exulting,” Meg nodded. She made a gesture and the figurines changed: now the maiden was walking, while the unicorn jumped and grazed around her. “He danced, and he sang, and he leapt, and he felt his heart would burst with joy. But first, she told him, she needed to ask for her father’s approval. He lived in a cabin at the edge of the forest, so if the unicorn came with her to talk to him right now, they could be married by sunset. Love makes us fool of us all, so the unicorn followed her without a second thought.”

“Oh, no,” Castiel said. “Something bad happened, didn’t it?”

“If you would let me tell the story, you would find out faster,” she groaned, and Castiel shut his mouth. Meg moved her hands again so the figurines of the girl and the unicorn started walking. “At the forest’s edge, there laid waiting a hunter, and when he saw them approaching, he drew his strong bow and shot an arrow… that struck the unicorn right in the heart!”

An arrow made of smoke flew across the room and did just as Meg had said. Castiel gasped with horror as the figurine wringed and moved in the air with a pain that was almost too real. Castiel even thought he could hear his pained neighing.

“And he died in her arms,” Meg concluded, as the unicorn’s figurine fell to the ground.

“And she died of grief thereafter!” Castiel guessed, saddened.

“No, she lived,” Meg affirmed simply. The maiden’s figurine got up and walked towards a smoke man coming towards her to embrace. “To marry the hunter. She was his sweetheart, you see, and the two had hatched the plan to lure and ambush the creature.”

“What?!” Castiel shouted, indignant. “That cruel, awful woman…! I knew there was nothing special about her!”

“Oh, you mustn’t judge her too harshly, Castiel.”

“But she betrayed him!” Castiel argued.

“But he never knew,” Meg shrugged. “Instead of living and having his heart grow bitter and callous, he died in bliss.”

Castiel blinked as the last wisps of smoke vanished in the air.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“Did you like it?”

“No,” Castiel replied, bluntly. “I think it’s the worst story I’ve ever heard. Meg, even if a story is sad, there must be some truth to it. Yours was sad for the sake of being sad.”

Meg stared at him with her pitch black eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, clearly offended.

“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it,” she groaned. “Perhaps you would like to tell me a better one?”

Castiel lowered his gaze to his mug. The chocolate, incredibly, had not grown cold while Meg told him the story.

“Once upon a time, there was a boy,” he said. “He happened upon a magical place, full of wonders and beauty where every one of his wishes could come true. The place was guarded by a sorceress who was bitter and callous, but the boy thought there was more to her than what met the eye. He gathered up the courage to ask her why she was so sad…”

There was a loud scratch over the floor. Meg had stood up suddenly, pushing her armchair backwards. She was trembling with anger, clenching her fists tight. Castiel flinched, certain that she was going to scream at him, but instead, she looked at the hole in the wall next to the chimney, the placed she had punched. She took a deep breath.

“You presume too much, you naïve little bluebird,” she said. Her voice was oozing with fury, but she didn’t raise it. “Goodnight.”

Castiel didn’t try to stop her when she stomped out of the room.

The wind outside was howling, and it continued that way the entire night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unicorn story was taken from 1976 Beauty and the Beast television movie, like many other aspects of this fic. You should check it out, 'cause that version is awesome and [it's on YouTube.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_7Q97BcapM)


	6. Chapter 6

When Castiel woke up the following morning, he shivered in his bedclothes. The room was cold, but the minute he thought it, a nice, warm fire lit up in his chimney. He still dragged the covers with him when he stood up to peak outside the window.

As far as his eyes could see, there was nothing but white and grey all around. The castle grounds were covered in snow, there were ice stalactites hanging from the tree’s branches and his glass window was misted. When he opened his closet, he found thicker coats and socks, gloves, scarves, and even a pair of ice skates.

He ran outside with them hanging from his neck, unable to contain his excitement. His boots sank on the virgin snow, so deep he had to make a real effort to not get them stuck on his way to the lake. Sure enough, it was frozen, and it looked quite solid from that distance. He didn’t even bother that his pants got wet when he sat down on to put on the skates.

The ice crackle under his weight, but it didn’t break. He took impulse, and soon he was spinning and jumping and falling all over until his cheeks were burning and he was marvelously out of breath. He had fallen on his butt for the third time and he was laughing at himself when Meg’s voice reached him:

“Are you having fun over there?”

“Yes, indeed I am,” Castiel said.

He didn’t turn over his shoulder to look at her, though. He was too busy remembering those winters with his brothers and his sister, when they would skate over the frozen river. Michael used to call him a clumsy idiot for not maintaining his balance, but he held Castiel’s hands until he learnt. Gabriel always mimicked falling, waving his hands in the air and making strange sounds with his mouth. Anna was always graceful, sliding over the ice just as easily as she walked.

Now, they didn’t have the time or the energy to skate. They didn’t have the time to do much, except bicker at each other and make sure their father didn’t die from all his drinking.

Perhaps there was some truth to Meg’s tale after all. Perhaps it would have been better that those days ended in bliss, before their mother’s death, before their fortune and good luck wavered until disappearing.

“You’re pensive, bluebird,” Meg said. “Aren’t you enjoying your winter day?”

Castiel turned towards her. She was standing right at the side of the lake, wearing a thick brown cape with a hood wide enough to cover her horns. Usually she was an imposing figure, but that day Castiel couldn’t help but to think how much she looked like a bundle of clothes.

“I am,” he said. “But I have just remembered that winter days are better when shared.”

Meg didn’t seem to get what he was insinuating, or maybe she decided to ignore it. She sat over the snow, her cape expanding around her.

“Well, the castle shares your enthusiasm,” she notified him. “Unlike the rose bushes, it likes change. This morning I found a pair of skates in my closet. It knows perfectly well that I can’t skate.”

Castiel couldn’t help but to laugh at how offended she sounded.

“Well, perhaps it meant for me to teach you,” he suggested. “It is good for the mind to try something new now and then.”

“I have no intentions whatsoever to humiliate myself in such manner,” Meg replied, lifting her chin with dignity.

“Is that so?”

At this point, he knew Meg couldn’t be forced or manipulated to do something she didn’t want. She was far too powerful for that. Instead, it was a matter of defying her.

“You can manipulate nature at will, but a simple exercise defeats you?” he asked, impressing all the skepticism he could in his voice. “I judged you much more daring than that, my lady Meg.”

The Beast stared at him for a moment, like she knew exactly what he was trying to do and she refused to fall in such a trap. But in the end, her pride won her over. She stood up and walked closer. Castiel noticed that her boots had been replaced by a pair of skates. She tended her gloved hand to Castiel and waited for him to take her before stepping on the ice.

“If I fall down, I will never forgive you,” she warned him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall,” Castiel promised, with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Winter marriages were bad luck, or so they said, so Mary Winchester adamantly opposed to having the ceremony before spring. But besides that, Anna couldn’t have asked for anyone more supportive and helpful. She offered her own wedding dress for Anna to wear, and she convinced Widow Harvelle to help prepare the banquet. Since Anna didn’t have a mother, Mary was the one who weaved stinging nettles, lilies and marigolds in her hair the day of the ceremony.

“You’re making Dean so happy,” Mary told her, as she tied her hair in a braid.

“He’s a good man,” Anna said. Honestly, she felt like she said anything else, she would vomit. Were brides supposed to feel sick and nervous the day of their wedding, or was that just something that happened to her?

Mary seemed to perceive her uneasiness, because she walked around the char to stand before her, putting a consoling hand on Anna’s shoulder.

“I know it must be strange for you,” she told her. “Getting married so soon after your brother…”

Anna didn’t say a word, but Mary wasn’t wrong to assume that was part of the reason she wasn’t as happy as she could have been. The winter had finally passed, and took away any clue to Castiel’s possible whereabouts with it. Most of the town had assumed that meant he was never coming back, and when Dean suggested they formed another search party, Anna had told him not to bother. It was foolish to keep on hoping. She didn’t know if her brother had got lost and died of cold and hunger or if a Beast had really devoured him as her father kept repeating. She didn’t know why he had left the house that night, and if Michael could have done anything to stop him.

And she would never know. Castiel wasn’t coming back. She needed to move on. Starting a new life with Dean was what she had been planning from the beginning, and now that the day was finally there, she wasn’t about to take her word back.

Of course she would have loved to have Castiel there. She would’ve loved to have her mother there too, though she wasn’t sure Naomi, in her strictness, would have approve of Dean. The idea put a pale smile in her face.

“There we are,” Mary smiled, approvingly, and grabbed both Anna’s hands. “I’m very glad you’re joining our family.”

“Thank you,” Anna said, and at least she could be completely honest when she added: “I am glad too.”

There was a knock on the door and Widow Harvelle’s announced them that everything was ready.

“We’re coming out now!” Mary said. She picked up the bouquet of flowers she had prepared that morning and handed it to Anna. “You look great.”

Anna nodded, the knot in her stomach preventing her from speaking. She would have liked to take a look at herself in the mirror before walking down, but there weren’t any in the Winchester’s tavern. She would have to trust Mary’s word. She took a deep breath and stepped out of the room.

Carver was waiting for her, shifting nervously on his feet.

“Dad?” Anna asked, confused.

They had agreed that Gabriel would be the one to walk her down the aisle, because Michael spent a lot of time nowhere to be seen those days and they didn’t know whether their father would be in conditions to do it. But Carver was there, red-faced and almost jumping on his feet.

“You… you are beautiful,” he stammered her with a little smirk. “I really wish your mother… and Cas…”

Tears glistened at the edge of his eyes, and Anna understood.

“Me too,” she said.

Carver opened his mouth, like he was going to say something else, but in the end he just offered his arm for Anna to hold on to.

The Winchester’s tavern was pretty big, but it looked small with all the people that were in there and the way they had arranged the chairs to form an aisle. It looked like half of the town had shown up. Once again, she was certain it was because Dean was loved and well-regarded, and people really did wish him well. Nobody really cared about the Miltons and the troubles they had caused them with their mysteriously vanishing son.

The chattering died out as soon as the saw Anna climbing down the stairs. She took a deep breath and tried to smile. So many eyes on her didn’t help at all the sensation that her knees were about to give in, but she managed to keep her head up high.

Dean waited for her at the end of the aisle, with a crown made of cedar and olive branches on his head. he looked incredibly handsome in his suit, his green eyes shone underneath the spring sun coming in through the open windows.

And amazingly, the moment she saw him, Anna stopped feeling like the entire room was spinning around her. Wherever Castiel was, he’d be glad to know how that she had married a man she could learn to love.

The ceremony was short, but heartfelt. Pastor Jim tied their hands up together and declared they were now husband and wife. It sounded a little surreal, but when Dean leaned over to kiss her, it felt like he was assuring her he was there. He was there, and it was real, and he wanted this.

Anna just hoped she wasn’t going to disappoint him.

The guests cheered and threw flower petals at them, wishing them a long happy life together.

“And many grandchildren for me!” Mary Winchester added, moving everyone to laughter.

“Alright, that’s all very nice,” Gabriel said. “But how about the party?”

And he only needed to say it for everyone to run outside to the wonderful spring evening. Jo Harvelle took out her father’s old lute, and Dean grabbed Anna’s hand to open the dance. A few minutes later, the crowd was laughing, dancing and singing while they passed around the jugs of beer and Widow Harvelle’s cakes. Anna danced with her father, then with Gabriel, with John and Sam, as the used dictated, and then every single man present insisted on taking her to the dance floor.

“Come on, Dean, don’t be mad!”·Garth said when Dean protested that they barely let her be around his bride. “You have the rest of your life to dance with her.”

“Is that what they call it now?” Widow Harvelle asked out loud. Anna flushed, but laughed out loud with the rest of the guests.

Her feet were killing her when she finally found a chair to fall onto.

“I hope you’re not danced out,” a voice said behind her.

“Michael!” she exclaimed, raising her head.

Michael was in front of her, smiling. Amazingly, he seemed perfectly sober, the same as Carver, even though that day they had a legitimate excuse to get drunk. Maybe they didn’t want to embarrass her on that particular day.

“Come on,” Michael offered her a hand. “We need to keep the traditions alive, don’t we?”

Anna accepted, and let her brother drag her to the middle of the improvised dance floor.

“Are you happy, little sister?” Michael asked her while they spun around.

The question sounded a bit strange, but Anna realized that the answer was yes. At some point during the ceremony or perhaps at the end of it, she had forgotten all her apprehensions, and now, seeing Dean’s family and friends accepting her as one of them, she felt exhilarated.

“It’s my wedding,” she replied, grinning. “Of course I’m happy.”

Michael nodded, like Anna was answering a question of vital importance.

“Good,” he said. “It’s good to know that.”

He was extremely serious, as he usually was, but Anna noticed it wasn’t the same as usual. A few months before, Anna had feared that he would protest her accepting Dean’s proposal because she would be marrying “beneath her”. To Michael, they never stopped being the proud, rich Miltons, and he was scornful towards anything that reminded him that wasn’t the case anymore. His temper had grown bitter and volatile, and no one was safe from his sharp tongue. For all the disdain he showed for his father, he had taken to drinking almost as much as Carver.

But those days, he had been taciturn, absent. Like all his passion, all his anger had left him. Maybe the grief he felt at Castiel’s loss was deeper than Anna had suspected.

“Michael? Is everything alright?” she asked.

She didn’t mean to imply that it was strange that he was sober, but if Michael understood that, he definitely didn’t show it or got angry at her. In fact, he didn’t seem to have heard her at all he moved with Anna around the yard. Like he was far away from there, and nothing around him could touch him anymore.

“Michael?”

“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing,” Michael assured her, shaking his head like a dog coming out of the water. “It really… it’s just… Castiel should be here.”

“Oh,” Anna lowered her eyes. It was exactly what she had suspected. “Yes. I miss him too.”

Michael didn’t add anything else. The song ended, and Michael stopped, not noticing or not caring that they were standing in the middle of the improvised dance floor without moving.

“You know if there is any way that I can make this right…”

“Stop,” Anna interrupted him. “There isn’t. It wasn’t your fault, and you can’t change it. There’s really no point thinking about it.”

Michael didn’t look convinced, but before he could say anything else, Dean approached them.

“Hey,” he said, with an awkward smile. “Do you think I can…?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Michael said. He managed a polite smile, but Anna knew him well enough to know he was faking it. “I’m… I’m glad you’ll be taking care of Anna now.”

He patted Dean on the shoulder, and walked away before either of them could add anything else. Anna was left with the strange impression Michael hadn’t said exactly what was on his mind.

 

* * *

 

The brief winter lasted a around a week, the time it took for the sun to melt the snow. Castiel suspected Meg was limiting its warmth so the change wasn’t too brusque. Until the ice in the late became too thin for them to skate on it, Meg had time to learn how to stand firmly on it and to give a few hesitant steps on it.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she complained.

Castiel tried with all his might to suffocate the laughter, but it was inevitable to laugh. She tried so hard and with such concentration anybody would think she was performing a most complicated task. She stumbled onto him more often than not, and in all that time, Castiel didn’t think she managed to slide even once.

But she didn’t fall.

“You’re doing great,” he encouraged her, still holding her hand as tightly as he could with the gloves between them. “I’m going to let go now.”

“Don’t you dare!” she exclaimed, and Castiel thought he perceived a note of panic in her voice. When he thought it over, he figured it must have been more irritation than anything. “Castiel, I swear…”

“Just a few inches,” Castiel promised. “You can try to slide towards me.”

Meg gritted her teeth, but consented on Castiel releasing her hand.

What happened afterwards was no one’s fault but his, and Castiel would never be convinced otherwise. He had been so busy encouraging her and explaining to her the best way to keep her balance that he didn’t hear the ice cracking underneath their weight. He didn’t notice the water underneath had begun to move a little too much. He didn’t react fast enough when Meg took a step towards him and suddenly disappeared from his sight with a surprised whimpered.

With his mind blank from the panic, he staggered towards the hole and his hands froze despite the gloves while he reached through the hole, trying to grab her arm or her shoulder, something to prevent her from sinking underneath the weight of her wet cape. He almost cried out in relief when he finally caught something solid. Meg’s head emerged from underneath the pieces of ice floating away, and in between gasping for air and sinking her claws in the ice to stay out, she managed to shout at him:

“Fool! Get out! It’s going to cave in!”

Castiel completely ignored her. Instead, he held on to her arm and pulled her up until her entire body was out of the water.

“Lean on me,” he instructed her.

She had lost her skates, or maybe she had kicked them out in desperation during the struggle. It didn’t really matter, except that she was barefoot in the cold and shivering violently in her damp clothes. There was no way she could make it back to the castle on her own.

So he half helped her, half dragged her out of the lake and up the stone steps. He thought the distance between the lake and the castle had shrunken all of the sudden, but he paid no mind to it. He just needed to get her somewhere safe and warm.

There was a roaring fire on the chimney and some blankets waiting for them on Meg’s chair. Castiel practically pushed her on the ground and starting covering her in them. She didn’t protest, perhaps because her chattering teeth were preventing her from speaking. Her skin was usually cold, but when Castiel touched her, he found it freezing. Her eyes, usually so shiny despite their color, were dead and she was leaning against the back of her chair, immobile except for her occasional shudders.

“Oh, please, please, be alright,” Castiel begged under his breath. “Please. I’m sorry. This was my fault. I should have known this is why you didn’t like the cold. Meg, please…”

“I’m… f-fine!” she stammered. Castiel supposed she meant to shout at him, but it came out pretty weak. “I’m… alright. Stop… stop worrying.”

Castiel didn’t stop worrying until her shimmering died out and the hands she was holding the covers with stopped trembling. He sighed and knelt in front of her, still watching every one of her moves, trying to figure out if she really was alright.

So it was strange how long it took him to notice the way she was staring at him.

“Why did you do it?” she asked.

“I thought it’d be fun for you,” Castiel said, cringing. Was she angry at him? Would she shout at him the moment she recovered her spirit. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Meg replied. “Why did you save me?”

The question left Castiel completely perplexed. He only then realized that he could fled the ice, that he could have left meg to drown or freeze to death in there, or at least slowed down while he made a run for the castle’s gate. He didn’t know if they would open for him, but he could have least attempted to flee. But the possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind. He had plunged in directly and pulled her out without even considering it.

It took him a long time to find an answer that was satisfactory for the both of them.

“Because… it was the right thing to do?” he tried.

“It was the right thing to do to save the Beast that threatened to kill your father and imprisoned you forever?”

She sounded skeptical, and even Castiel had to admit that was a flimsy reason.

“Because… I couldn’t let you die, Meg,” he said. “I simply couldn’t.”

Meg still didn’t seem convinced.

“And was I worth risking your life?” she asked. Her voice was filled to the brim with fury. “The ice could have broken beneath. We could have both drowned, Castiel. What you did was foolish…”

“I had to save you!” Castiel replied, angered that she didn’t seem to understand it. “You’re my friend, Meg. I had to risk it! Do you really appreciate your own life so little?”

Meg was taken aback, but not enough not to argue back.

“I have lived for a very long time, Castiel,” she said. “Longer than you could probably even imagine. Yes, my old, stupid life is not worth much compared to yours.”

“How can you say that?” Castiel asked, somewhere between still angry and surprised. “Can’t you see that’s exactly why I had to save you? The wonders you can do, the knowledge you have, that had to be saved. You’re an extraordinary being, Meg. I’m… I’m dispensable.”

Meg stood up all of the sudden; the covers falling from her shoulders. Her hands were trembling again, but he doubted it was because of the cold.

“If you ever speak like that again, Castiel Milton, I swear to everything that's sacred…”

She didn’t finish the threat. She stormed out of the room, leaving Castiel in utter confusion, like she usually did.

Castiel took his time walking around the room to calm himself. The castle presented him with several warm beverages, including a chocolate that smelled delicious, but he wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it. In the end, he climbed the stairs and walked towards his room, despite it still being quite early. It didn’t matter. The curtains in his window were so sick he could easily block the cold, white light coming from the last traces of snow outside.

A shadow moved at the end of the hallway, startling him. Meg was standing there in the shadows, her wet dress dripping down on the carpet. She didn’t seem to care.

“Castiel,” she called him.

“My lady Meg,” he replied, surprised to see her there. She usually respected his space almost obsessively.

She seemed to realize that too, because she squared her shoulders and straightened her back, almost as if to remind him who was the lady of the castle.

“I am no unicorn,” she said.

She was gone before Castiel could muster an answer.


	7. Chapter 7

The summer returned slowly, almost lazily. Castiel didn’t notice it until one morning he looked outside and saw the usual green and blue, with splashes of color where the flower beds were. Despite Meg’s predictions, the roses had survived the cold.

He hadn’t seen her in several days. He knew she hadn’t left the castle because he could still hear the rustling of her dress vanishing when he entered a room sometimes, he could see her disappearing out of the corner of his eyes when he turned around a hall, he felt her eyes on him whenever he took his usual stroll around the garden. But she didn’t come closer, she didn’t join him for dinner, and she didn’t talk to him. Maybe she was mad at him and trying to calm down, maybe she simply had decided she was bored with him. Castiel tried to come up with another challenge for her, but the loneliness of the castle was weighing down on him. Despite everything, he missed Meg’s company and conversation, as one-sided as it felt sometimes.

“Please, talk to me again,” he said one time to the empty hall that led to his room. “I don’t know what I did or said to upset you, but I am sorry.”

He thought he saw someone appearing next to the window, but when he looked again, it was only the wind moving the curtain.

But Meg returned later that day. At eight o’clock, when he walked in on the dining room, she was sitting in her usual spot, with her glass of wine in her hand, like nothing had happened at all.

“Good night, Castiel,” she greeted him.

Castiel wanted to run at her, grab her by the shoulders and shake her. He was angry she had left him, but so glad to see her it felt like his head was going to explode with those contradicting emotions. In the end, he collected himself enough to smile and sat by her side in his usual spot.

“My lady Meg,” he said. “I’m happy decided to join me.”

“Please, don’t assume you are to blame for my sudden absence,” she said. “I just… had a lot in my mind I needed to reflect upon.”

That was the closest to an explanation she was going to offer, so Castiel asked no further questions and started eating.

“I was thinking about something you said the first night you were here,” she said, piercing through him with her unlinking black eyes. “You said you were curious and you liked learning.

“Yes, that’s true,” Castiel nodded, between bites of his fish.

“And you saved me from the ice because you didn’t want my knowledge to be lost.”

In fact that was one of the many explanations Castiel had given, and perhaps not the most honest one. But if Meg had chosen to focus on it, it was because she had something on her mind. She never expressed her thoughts directly. She surrounded them and analyzed them and stalked them like… well, like a snake.

“I do think that would be an awful disgrace,” Castiel replied.

Meg emptied her glass. “Yet, you haven’t asked me to teach you.”

Castiel put the fork he was about to stick in his mouth down.

“Teach me?” he repeated. “About magic?”

“If you want to learn that, yes,” she shrugged. “But there are many things that I think would be convenient for a young man like you to know.”

Castiel didn’t have to think about it for long.

“Can you do it?” he asked. “My education was brusquely interrupted when my father lost his fortune, and there’s nothing I regret and miss more about those days. I would love to learn from you.”

The edges of Meg’s mouth lift upwards, like she didn’t expect any different from him.

“I don’t reckon I’ll make a very patient teacher,” she said. “But if that’s what you want, I will try of course.”

Castiel didn’t realize until much later what she had done: she had basically manipulated him into proposing a challenge that hadn’t even crossed his mind. But he was too elated by the gift she was offering him to care.

“When do we start?” he asked.

“We’ve started already.”

“Where’s the school?” Castiel asked, frowning. Was Meg playing one of her jokes on him?

“You’re in it,” Meg replied, with a shrug. “Wherever you go, whatever you see, you should try to learn something from it. Knowledge in books can only take so far. Experience is the one real teacher you will need.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll get to experience much,” Castiel said, without even thinking it, and then wished he had bitten his tongue. “I didn’t mean to say I’m not content here in your castle…”

“That’s alright, Castiel,” she said. “I understand that if you’ve had a choice, this is not the place you’d choose to be in.”

“But I did have a choice,” Castiel replied. “I choose to come here to save my father. And to be quite honest with you, I certainly picture this being a lot worse.”

Meg looked at him for a second, like she didn’t know what to make out of his words, and then she snickered.

“You have a lot to learn, little bluebird,” she said. “Meet me tomorrow morning at the end of the corridor of the west wing. I will show you something I get the feeling you’ll like.”

He was so excited to see Meg’s surprise he almost didn’t sleep that night, and in the morning he dashed through the hallway with an almost childlike enthusiasm. Meg was waiting for him in front of imposing wooden double doors, with her usual distant poise.

“I have never been to this part of the castle before,” Castiel commented, looking around at the old hangings and the windows that showed parts of the grounds he knew from different angles.

“Of course,” Meg said. “Did you think I would let you wonder through my home without taking certain precautions?”

Castiel reflected on it and realized that he, on occasions, had found himself going to a place he hadn’t meant to go to, or finding out a set of stairs didn’t lead where he thought. But he had just assumed that was part of the castle’s magic, not a deliberate attempt of Meg to keep him away from her secrets.

“There are many treasures in this place I have no interest in showing anybody,” Meg said, almost as if she was reading his thoughts. “But behind these doors, there’s my most valuable one.”

“I feel honored that you decided to share it with me,” Castiel said, astonished as so much generosity.

“I’m not just sharing,” she said, and from somewhere among the folds of her dress, she produced a bronze key she offered to him. “I’m giving you full access to it. You can come to this room at any moment you choose, for whatever reason you need, and stay as long as you want. All I ask of you is that you’re respectful and treat it with the same care I do. Do you understand these conditions, Castiel?”

“Absolutely,” Castiel nodded, his heart pounding in his chest with anticipation. Meg made a theatrical gesture with her hands, and pushed the doors open.

Castiel’s jaw fell.

There was the library. But it was nothing like he imagined it.

In front of him, and as far as he could see, there were shelves and shelves covered with books. He had thought the back of Mr. Singer’s library was big, and the library they had in their old home was also of a respectable size.

But this library could contain all the books in both of them and still have some room for more. Shelves and shelves covered in small books, or codecs as thick as his arm, and rolls of paper piled up and waiting for him to open them up and discovered its secrets. The windows in that room were even bigger than the ones he was used to see around the castle, and there were two armchairs (Castiel noticed, suspiciously similar to the ones in the dining hall) placed strategically underneath them to make the most of the light. The dust floated in the air, that smelled like leather and old paper.

“Oh, my God,” he mouthed breathlessly, as he took a reverent step forwards. “This is… Meg, this is so wonderful… how…?”

“I travelled a lot,” Meg shrugged. “Collected a lot of knowledge, as you’ve said yourself. And it’s all in here. Go ahead, pick one.”

“Oh, I… I wouldn’t know where to start…” Castiel said, spinning around himself as if that way he could take in all of them at once. “I…”

“The castle’s probably been recommending you some of them,” Meg said. “But it likes adventure and romance too much for it to be a good counselor on what to read.”

“I like adventure and romance too,” Castiel admitted.

“Of course you do,” Meg snickered. “You like the stories where the unicorn lives.”

“Absolutely,” Castiel said, ungluing his eyes from the book to look at her. “Why don’t you?”

Meg stared at him, surprised. Castiel remained silent, fully expecting her to answer.

“Well…” she mumbled. “They’re not… they’re silly.”

“Yes, some of them are,” Castiel admitted. “And some are sad, and some take to faraway lands where you don’t want to come back from…”

“Ah, so that’s what you love about them,” Meg said, clicking her tongue like she finally understood something. “That you can escape.”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted again. “Exactly. Sometimes it’s not that bad to take a break from… reality.”

He went quiet. When put like that, he had the feeling it didn’t sound very intelligent. But then it dawned.

“You must have liked them too,” he said. “Sometime in the past. Otherwise, why would you have those kinds of books in the castle?”

Meg laughed it off again, but she did it way too late for Castiel to believe what she said next:

“I bought them by mistake. I thought they contained bigger truths than they actually did.”

“Every story contains a bit of truth,” Castiel insisted.

Meg looked at him. She was clearly amused by his attempts at convincing her.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I challenge you to a little game of my own. If you can manage to find the answer of why these stories are important, by using the books in this room…”

“Then?” Castiel asked.

“Then I’ll give you a prize,” Meg said, vaguely. “It’ll be a surprise.”

“Very well,” Castiel said, unable to hold back a smile. “I accept.”

He stood where he was, until Meg tilted her head.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Oh, but you didn’t say there’ll be a time limit for me to find the answer.”

Meg stared at him, open mouthed for a second… and then she burst into laughter. Not the half-drunken giggles she let out sometimes at the dinner table, not the snickers she gave when she called him a bluebird and mocked him for his naivety. An actual, honest and loud laughter, like Castiel hadn’t heard her before.

And it occurred to him that she didn’t look as beastly when she laughed.

“Oh, I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” she asked when she calmed down.

“I’m afraid you did,” Castiel said. “See? I am learning things from you already.”

“Very well, a lady must know when she’s been defeated,” Meg said, taking a little bow for Castiel. “I will leave you to your investigations then.”

“You won’t…?” Castiel’s happiness suddenly deflated a little. “Oh, you won’t stay and help me?”

“You seem to have everything figured out,” Meg said, with a little shrug. “I would just be a distraction to you at this point, my brave little investigator.”

“I’ll find the answer,” Castiel assured her as she walked away.

“I have no doubt you will,” Meg replied, without looking over her shoulder.

So Castiel find a new way to occupy his days: he woke up early, went to the library and pulled books from the shelves, looking for a way to convince Meg that stories were important. It wasn’t easy, because the books weren’t ordered, at least not in a way that made sense to him: History and Philosophy were lumped together with Biology and Astronomy, books with pages so frail Castiel feared would fall apart in his fingers were kept next to modern editions of those stories Meg claimed to dislike. Some were written in languages or alphabets Castiel was incapable of understanding and some had topics that he didn’t believe could possibly help him, like _The Handbook of Etiquette in the Fairy Court_ or _The Stars and their Influence in the Proper Care of the House Garden_.

Castiel devoured them all. No matter the topic or the length, he would read until the sun coming in through the windows disappeared and his eyes burned.

Sometimes Meg joined him. She sat in one of the armchairs with a book in her hands and pretended to read, but Castiel could feel the sting of her eyes in the back of his head. Sometimes he heard her chuckling to herself, and when he asked what was funny, she would shrug or say: “This author has some very pathetic ideas” or “Bluebird, I don’t think you will find the answer to my question in _The Art of Horoscopes_.”

“You never know,” Castiel replied, a little scorched that she would laugh at his attempts.

“They’re charlatans. Don’t waste your time with them,” she replied. “Fate and magic have their own path, and it’s always unpredictable.”

Castiel startled.

“What did you say?”

“Stop wasting your time.”

“No, the other thing.”

“Fate and magic have their own path,” she repeated.

Castiel stared at her open-mouthed, unable to articulate a word. The dream he had the night before leaving his home flashed in the back of his head. He had almost forgotten about it. He turned his attention back to the books, and put _The Art of Horoscopes_ away.

“I don’t suppose you have anything about dreams, do you?” he asked.

“Ah, now that is an interesting topic,” she replied, closing her book and standing up. “Dreams also have rules of their own, and many people have tried to discover what they are. I have an interesting book about it here somewhere…”

“Do you think it’s possible to… have dreams that predict something that will happen?” Castiel asked. “Or something that has been?”

“Absolutely,” Meg replied, as she dusted off some shelves and pick up a very thick volume effortlessly. “Magic can intervene in dreams to show glimpses of truths we can’t know or understand when we’re awake.”

“I had a dream before coming here,” Castiel confessed.

“Really?” Meg asked, tilting her head with curiosity. “What was it about?”

Castiel open his mouth to tell her about the princess with the dress made of shreds of night-sky, how he had pleaded with her, how she had called upon him.

“My father,” he lied, instead. “Dead. That’s why I left to come here. I knew you would find a way to keep your promise, even if he didn’t return to your castle.”

Meg leaned closer to him, almost as she suspected that he wasn’t telling the entire truth. But in the end, she nodded.

“You’re smart,” she said. “The rose he stole had a remnant of my magic. Everything in this castle does, that’s why it’s become slightly sentient. It’s also the reason you had that dream. And the reason you could find your way here.”

She put the book in Castiel’s hand, and he almost dropped it: it was just as heavy as it looked. Huffing, he took it to his reading desk where the other books were waiting. Meg turned around to return to her arm chair.

“Would you really have done it?” Castiel asked, suddenly.

Meg didn’t look at him.

“Would you really have killed my father if he had returned?” he asked again. “For stealing a rose?”

“Yes,” Meg replied, still with her back to him. “It angered me. You’re forgetting again, Castiel, who and what I am.”

“Oh, no,” Castiel said, opening the book about dreams. “I keep that in mind constantly.”

Meg didn’t answer, but when Castiel looked up again, she was gone. He didn’t know if she had left the library when he wasn’t looking or if vanishing like that was yet another of her powers.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel like reading about dreams. He put the book away and went on to look for another.

At twilight, he got out of the library and closed the door behind him like he always did. He didn’t dare bring a candle in there, even if he wanted to keep on going, so when it was too dark to read, he stepped outside and took a stroll through the gardens to clear his head. Meg joined him sometimes, but that night she was apparently busy, so Castiel sat by himself in the lake and threw bread at the swans. A row of small cygnets were swimming clumsily behind his parents, and Castiel wandered at how life went on while he and Meg spent their days locked away between dusty books. He should propose they had another picnic outside soon.

“So, what have you learned today Castiel?” she asked him at the dinner table that night. “Have you found the answer?”

“I’m making progress,” Castiel lied. The truth was he got so distracted sometimes he completely forgot all that reading and searching had an actual propose. “But I have a couple of questions for you.”

“Oh, this should be interesting,” Meg said as she filled her glass.

“You said it angered you when my father stole the rose,” he reminded her. “Why?”

Meg took a sip of her wine, and stayed quiet for so long Castiel was wondering if he should repeat the question.

“Because he just _took_ it,” she said, in the end. “He didn’t think that I had welcomed him as a guest. He could have asked for the rose, explain to me why he wanted it, and I would have given it to him. Instead, he just cut it out, without thinking all the hours of work and care I put into growing it. It was arrogant and entitled, and it infuriated me.”

Castiel nodded. It made sense. Meg had been in that castle alone for who knew how long, and she had become fiercely protective of it and everything it contained. And she had a right to be angry whenever someone tried to damage it.

He still didn’t think it was reason to kill a person, but Meg moved by different rules than humans. Which brought him to his other question.

“I found a bestiary among the books,” he said. “Nothing I saw in there looked like you.”

“Of course it didn’t,” she said. Her eyes moved slightly to the left, and Castiel had the distinctive impression she was rolling her eyes at him. “You can’t learn about me in those books. But you can learn a lot about yourself.”

“How come?”

“Those monsters are imaginary,” Meg explained. “They’re meant to represent the things humans fear the most. When you picture a dragon guarding a treasure, it’s not really a fire-breathing giant lizard that you’re scared of. It’s your own greed, and what you’re willing to risk to satisfy it.”

Castiel looked down at his dinner for a moment, his mouth hanging open as the realization dawned on him.

“Bluebird? Your eyes are shinning,” she said.

Castiel lifted up his head towards her.

“I think I found the answer,” he said. “The reason why stories are important. If monsters, as you said, are meant to represent our fears, the things that make us worse, then stories about adventures and love are meant to represent the things we hope for. We hope to defeat the monsters, to overcome the bad times, to find someone who cares for us. We hope to come home at the end of the day. That’s why stories are important. They’re meant to teach us what we should strive for!”

He had become so excited that he didn’t even realize that he had raised his voice and he was practically jumping out of his seat. He blushed, embarrassed, and sat back down again under Meg’s amused gaze.

“Impressive, Castiel,” she congratulated him, but he could tell she was fighting back the laughter.

“Thank you,” he said, still not entirely sure his epiphany counted as an answer. “Did I…? Have I answered it correctly?”

Meg balanced the goblet in her hand, reflexively.

“I guess I must accept it because I’m the one who posed the metaphor,” she said. “If I say monsters are about fear, then I must also say that stories about slaying those monsters are about the opposite.”

“I thought the opposite of fear was bravery?”

“Bravery is how you react to fear,” Meg pointed out. “Hope is what you feel when you expect a good outcome of a situation. Do you understand the difference?”

“I think I do,” Castiel nodded.

“Great,” she smiled. “Then we’ve found an answer.”

Castiel was so excited he almost fell from his chair. He looked at Meg expectantly, but she merely kept drinking her wine without another word to him.

“Well?” he asked, when it was obvious she was not noticing his anxiety.

“Well, what?” she replied, tilting her head.

“What is the prize you promised me?” he asked.

“Oh, that,” Meg remembered. If he didn’t know her better, he would have said she looked slightly embarrassed and was trying to hide it away. “Isn’t the knowledge you’ve gained in these weeks prize enough for you?”

Castiel’s jaw hanged open for a moment when he realized exactly what was going on.

“You never planned on giving me anything, did you?”

“I never thought you would find a satisfactory answer,” Meg replied, in what was probably the closest thing he was going to get to an admission.

“You’ve tricked me!”

“In my favor, I had no intentions of tricking you,” she said. “I simply did not believe the task you’d undertaken would be possible to complete. And in any case, you didn’t find the answer. I gave it to you.”

Castiel didn’t know whether to laugh or get angry at Meg’s clear deceit. Maybe she truly believed hadn’t meant to cheat him out of a promised prize, but he still could not believe…

And that’s when it occurred to him he could use that.

“Your intentions are secondary,” he said. “You made me a promise, and as you’ve said it yourself, it’s dangerous to try and get out of promises in the presence of magic.”

Meg looked up at the ceiling, like it was her now who couldn’t believe what Castiel was saying.

“Fine,” she groaned in the end. “What is that you want?”

Castiel didn’t answer immediately. This was a golden opportunity he had, and he wasn’t going to take it lightly. If there was a chance for him to convince her to let him out of the castle grounds, this would be it. He could plan an escape route; he could try and return to his home…

But then he realized he had only arrived at the castle because Meg’s magic had led him to it. Maybe he could leave, but he wouldn’t have a chance finding the way back to his town, not unless she allowed him to. He had no idea how far her power could reach, but he suspected it was a lot further than he imagined.

Then again, maybe she would let him go if he simply asked her. There was not much to lose.

He opened up his mouth, and closed it again. Would she really keep her word or trick him again? Would she be angry if he asked her that? Maybe he could establish some conditions so she couldn’t come after him or his family in case he somehow managed to escape, maybe…

He imagined Meg all alone in that castle again, just like she had been before he arrived. Maybe she would like to be that way again, maybe he wouldn’t miss him at all. Maybe she would shrug and say something along the lines of “Be on your way, little bluebird. I’m bored of you anyway.”

Or maybe she did want him to stay, but she was too proud to say so. Was he that important to her? Did she consider him a friend, a student or simply an entertainment?

All those questions made Castiel almost dizzy, and Meg was still staring at him, waiting for him to answer to her.

“I’ll… think about it and let you know,” he said.

Meg smiled at him, so wide he could see the fangs on her mouth.

“You didn’t think you would win the prize either.”

“I was putting my best effort into it,” Castiel protested.

“Absolutely, that’s why you read all about how to behave in the fairy court.”

“Well, I think that’s practical knowledge that would have served me a long time ago,” Castiel said. “After all, you can never know when you’re going to find yourself trapped in a magical place with rules that are beyond your understanding.”

Meg laughed out loud again and for a long time, like Castiel had just told her the funniest joke in history. Castiel find himself smiling and giggling too.

“I reserve my right to claim my prize later on,” he said, when they calmed down a little. “When I can think of something adequate.”

“Have it your way,” she shrugged.

She continued drinking in silence, but he could feel her gaze on him every time she lifted the glass. It was like she was expecting him to say something else, but he couldn’t be sure what.

So he shook his head and changed the subject.

“I have learned some new stories during my investigations,” he said. “Would you like to hear one?”

“I don’t see why not,” Meg said, leaning back on her chair.

Castiel took a deep breath and started:

“Once upon a time, there was fairy…”

“Was she an evil fairy or a good one?”

Castiel looked at her, mildly irritated.

“If you would let me tell the story, perhaps you would find out faster.”

Meg simply smirked at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she was very clearly not. “Continue, please.”

Castiel knew exactly what Meg was doing, but he couldn’t exactly be mad at her for it. He leaned back and prepared for a lot of indiscriminate teasing.

“Once upon a time…”


	8. Chapter 8

The days had become longer and warmer, and Anna supposed that should be an incentive to leave the bed, but lately, all she felt like doing was staying in there. Especially on those mornings when she woke up feeling like the small room she shared with her husband was spinning around her.

“You feel sick again?” Dean asked her, placing a hand around her waist.

“Yes,” Anna muttered, turning around in the bed. Dean stared at her with worry in his eyes, but Anna smiled at him reassuringly. “I guess I just need to stay away from Widow Harvelle’s cakes for a while."

Dean tried to smile as well, but Anna could still notice the preoccupation in his green eyes.

“Maybe we should go to Ruby…” he suggested.

“No,” Anna said, firmly. “She’s a charlatan, and I’m perfectly fine.”

And she got up and started getting dressed to prove it.

It was wise of Dean to suggest she should see someone that could tell her if there was anything wrong with her health, but Anna didn’t trust Ruby. The town’s healer and midwife had a reputation for meddling with a lot more than the herbs and poultices, and even though she hadn’t been accused of anything, people still were generally reluctant about going to her.

Also, Anna didn’t like the rumors she kept hearing about how long Michael spent at her home.

She felt like she hadn’t seen her brother practically since her wedding. He was always busy, apparently, and he couldn’t find the time to visit her sister.

Gabriel, on his part, had wormed his way into the Winchester’s hearts when he helped Mary while John and the boys were looking for Castiel in the woods, so he had been invited to work there. Gabriel had been all too happy to ditch his job at the mines, so now Anna had the chance to see him every day. He kept her informed about her father’s health (he was drinking a lot less those days, thanks the stars), but not even he could tell her what was going on with Michael.

“I don’t see him around anymore,” he’d told her when Anna asked him. “He doesn’t come home to sleep, the miners say he keep missing his shifts. I really don’t know what’s got into him, and honestly, I’m a little scared to ask.”

Anna suspected he did know what was going, but he wanted to spare her. He still couldn’t protect her from the town’s talk.

Mr. Singer was the first one to open his mouth.

“It’s such a shame about your brother,” he’d commented while Anna served him his usual drink.

“I know,” Anna had replied. “It must be hard for you to find someone else to help you at the store…”

Mr. Singer had looked at her with utter confusion in his perpetually frowned brow.

“Well, yes, I do miss the little daydreamer,” he’d admitted. “But I was talking about Michael. I don’t think it’s right he spends all that time with that witch of Ruby.”

Anna had been too taken aback to ask him what he meant, but it wasn’t long until she heard more comments about it.

“Oh, yes, he goes there every night,” Jo Harvelle told her when she went into their bakery. “He leaves early in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep so I was looking outside of my window,” Ava told her when they met in the market one time. “I saw them walking towards the woods. A little late for a night stroll…”

“You should tell him to stay away from that woman,” John had warned her. “She’s not like Missouri,” he’d added, meaning the previous midwife who had passed away a couple of years before.

And Anna had wanted to tell him, she’d really wanted to talk to him and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. But whenever she went home, only her father or Gabriel were there, and the few times she had intercepted Michael on the streets, he’d made an excuse, told her he was late for something or downright pretending he couldn’t see her.

So Anna didn’t think she could see Ruby, not without screaming at her and demanding to know what she was doing to her brother.

Dean helpfully tied up the laces in the back of her dress and kissed her on the cheek. He opened his mouth, perhaps to tell her again she shouldn’t worry, but someone knock on their door.

“Oh, come on, it’s too early for our shift,” he complained. Anna laughed and went to open… only to find both Gabriel looking more serious than she had ever seen him.

“Sis, we have a bit of a problem,” he said.

Anna didn’t have to ask what he meant. She heard the unmistakable cries of her father coming from below.

“Father?” she asked, running downstairs to where Carver was crying over a piece of paper. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s _her_!” Carver shouted, inconsolable, as he handed Anna the paper. “She won’t rest until she’s taken all of you away from me!”

“The Beast again?” Dean asked. He was already too familiar with his father ramblings and nonsense version of what had happened to Castiel.

Anna read the paper once, and then over again, because she couldn’t believe the words that were written in it.

“No,” she said, suddenly seething with rage. “Not this time at least.”

“Anna!” Gabriel shouted in her wake. “Anna, wait!”

Anna was already out of the tavern and striding towards the end of the street, so furious anyone who saw her moved out of her way immediately. She could hear both Dean and Gabriel calling to her behind her, but she refused to look back. She crossed Ruby’s garden, not caring what plants she step on, and knocked on her door with all her strength. When there was no answer, she knocked again, loud enough for the entire block to hear her.

“Ruby, you whore!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “I know you’re in there! Come out and tell me what you did to my brother!”

There were some steps behind the door, and finally, the midwife opened the door. She was rubbing her big dark eyes tiredly, and her dark hair was a mess over her head. She was wearing nothing but a camisole, and yawning uncontrollably. Anna had clearly got her out of bed.

“Do you mind keep it down?” Ruby asked, shooting a glare at the woman on her doorstep. “I was up late helping deliver a baby…”

“Oh, weren’t you up late conning my brother?” Anna asked. She shoved the letter against Ruby’s chest, who looked at it with a mix of confusion and indifference.

“I can’t read.”

That simple affirmation made Anna stop for a second and reconsider who she should be directing her fury at. But Michael wasn’t there, and she couldn’t be mad at the dead.

“Michael says he’s leaving,” she informed her, waving the letter. “He says you told him there is a way to find Castiel.”

“Oh, that,” Ruby seemed to remember. “Yes, I did.”

Anna was prepared to hear her deny it, but that admission threw her off and filled her with doubt. If Ruby was lying, if she had been lying to Michael for whatever purposes, then she would deny having anything to do with his sudden departure. Instead, she was freely admitting that she had convinced him of something that just couldn’t be true.

“Castiel is dead,” Anna stated, trying to find her rage again. “Whatever… quest Michael left for is a useless waste of time, and you sent him to it with your lies…”

“I didn’t lie,” Ruby interrupted her. She was starting to look slightly irritated. “Castiel is alive, but hidden by a powerful magic.”

“That makes no sense,” Anna said, but she knew right away it didn’t matter what she thought. Ruby was clearly convinced of what she was saying, and apparently, Michael had been too. And it didn’t matter how much she raged and screamed at Ruby, that wasn’t going to bring any of her brothers back.

The midwife held her gaze, and shrugged.

“I only told Michael what I’m telling you,” she insisted. “Your brother is alive. There is a way to bring him back, but I’m not powerful enough to reach him. If Michael decided to go and find someone who is, that’s not on me.”

She was right. Not about it there being a way to bring Castiel back, but Michael had made that choice on his own. Anna stood there, speechless though still furious, until Ruby stepped back and closed the door in her face.

And after that, there really was nothing left for her to do. She turned around, thinking about going back to the tavern to console her father when Ruby opened the door again:

“And by the way,” she shouted at Anna’s back. “When your child is born, you might want to call another midwife.”

 

* * *

 

There was a bird chirping somewhere above him. Castiel lazily opened his eyes and looked up. The bluebird sitting on the bench above was waving its little wings and singing at the top of his lungs, like he wanted every living creature on the castle’s grounds to hear him.

Castiel smiled groggily. He didn’t remember falling asleep. The book he had been reading out loud had fallen out of his hands and Meg…

It took him a second or to realize what the weight on his lap was. He almost startled when he looked down, because Meg’s eyes were open (or where they really? He didn’t know how that worked, but he had the theory her eyelids were actually invisible, like those of a snake), but she was completely immobile. Her chest rose up and fell down again in deep, rhythmical breaths, and she didn’t react at all when Castiel moved a little to place his aching back a little closer to the tree’s trunk.

He took that opportunity to look her more closely. Her skin, which he always thought of as grey, actually had a silvery glimmer when the sun hit it. Her fingers were curved and had such long fingernails that it would have been more appropriate to call it claws, and he knew exactly how strong they were. The hole next to the chimney where she had punched the wall in anger stayed there. He didn’t know if the castle refused to repair it or if Meg had ordered it not to do it. But he had also seen those hands delicately taking a glass or sliding over the lines in an old book. And her eyes, though now were completely empty, could shine with a glimmer of amusement or anger. He didn’t know how he ever thought those eyes were dead and vacant.

Her skin was cool when he dared put a hand on her cheek. Maybe not cold, but its temperature was definitely below his. If it was always like that, it wasn’t strange Meg lived in a perpetual summer day, and the castle’s windows were designed to let in as much sun as it was possible.

It was strange, he thought. It was easy to lose the notion of time in there, so he really had no idea how long it had been since he had been living in the castle, but he could have sworn it wasn’t that long ago that he would jump and try to get away from Meg’s touch. Now it was him who was touching her voluntarily, because he wanted to know if her scales would feel soft or rough under his fingertips.

He moved them up to her hair, which was probably the most human part of her aspect. It was tangled and brittle, because of course Meg wouldn’t waste any time brushing it, but he was surprised to find that out. From afar, it always looked puffy and soft. Now he sort of wanted to untangle all the knots it had, but he didn’t want to disturb Meg. And besides, he pondered it wouldn’t be an easy task with her horns in the way…

Meg moved her head, ever so slowly, but Castiel knew right away she was awake. He didn’t move his hand away, though. He traced the outline of her horns with one finger. They were white like marble, and just as hard.

“What are you doing?” Meg asked after a few seconds. Castiel didn’t know what to answer to that, so he asked another question instead:

“Are they heavy?” he said, still with a finger on her closest horn. “They look… inconvenient.”

Meg remained in silence for a second. Castiel was sure she was going to get up and tell him to stop touching them, but she didn’t.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve had them for a very long time now. If they are, I have stopped noticing.”

That was another question Castiel would have liked to ask: how old was Meg exactly, and how long she’d had that aspect. Sometimes she spoke like it had been a time before she was a Beast, and sometimes she insinuated that she had been born like that. She mentioned she had travelled a lot to get her books, but she had also said that for the castle to gain sentience she’d had to practice magic around it for years and years.

All those mysteries about her tortured him. But last time Castiel had prodded her about her past, she had got mad at him, so he decided that if Meg wanted him to know about her, she would tell him herself.

For now she was looking at him with curiosity, like it was her who had a question for him now.

“Aren’t you horrified?” she said, in the end. Castiel wondered when it had been the last time she’d been close to someone.

“I’ve got used to your aspect,” he answered, sincerely. “Your temper is the thing that still worries me.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I have done anything lately for you to fear my temper,” she said. She sounded deeply offended, and Castiel chuckled.

“I saw you shouting at the roses yesterday,” he said. “I’m sure they were terrified.”

“Well, they wouldn’t have to be if they just did as they were told,” she said, irritated. She sat up, but only to scoot until she was sitting right next to Castiel. “So, what happened to Oberon?”

Castiel looked at the abandoned book by his side and he was amazed to discover he didn’t want to keep on reading. Meg was in a talkative mood, and he wanted to make the most out of it.

“Have you ever met a fairy?” he asked. “You have many books about them, but have you ever seen them?”

“Oh, fairies,” Meg said, rolling her eyes. “Never challenge one to a drinking contest. They cheat.”

“Why were you having a drinking contest with a fairy?” Castiel asked, completely thrown off by the randomness of the advice.

“I was trying to get her drunk, of course,” Meg replied, with a shrug. “I wanted to ask her a question, but I wasn’t getting what I needed. They always speak cryptically when they’re sober, so I figured she would make more sense after some moonshine. She didn’t, or maybe I was too far gone to understand her.”

“Forgive me if I doubt it,” Castiel replied, holding back his laughter. “I’ve seen you drink.”

“Well, I probably could stand a chance now,” Meg admitted. “Back then I was young, stupid and didn’t have much head for alcohol.”

“What was the question you wanted to ask her?”

Meg sighed deeply, like she didn’t want to remember that.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I found the answer for myself years later. It was something that simply couldn’t be done.”

“Not even with all your magic?”

“Not even with all the magic in the world,” she said, looking into the distance.

And just like that, she clammed up again.

Castiel wondered what it was that she’d wanted to do back then. She had expressed her disdain for love and everything related to it, so maybe it was something related to time or death. Turning back time or bringing someone back from beyond… what was the word she had used? From beyond the Veil. He liked that expression. It made death sound soft and easy, yet mysterious, just a veil that humans couldn’t see through.

“Are you writing poetry in your head, little bluebird?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’m going to go ahead and guess poetry is another thing you consider useless,” Castiel said, turning to meet her gaze.

“I do dislike poetry,” she admitted. “It lies. It deforms whatever subject it talks about.”

“And you’re so deadest in living in the most absolute realism that you never allow winter to happen in your garden,” Castiel teased her.

“That’s a practicality,” Meg groaned.

Castiel chuckled again. That was another thing that had changed. Before, he would shut up or try to end the conversation in the most polite manner when she showed things of irritation. She was right in telling she had kept her temper out of control lately, because he no longer feared she would scream or go off at him.

“Well, I am not reciting my poetry to you any time soon,” he promised.

“I would much prefer you stopped writing it all together,” she said. “I don’t like it when you look so absent-minded. It makes me feel like you’re far away from me.”

She stopped talking suddenly, like she had not meant to say that, and looked away. Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything. It was the first time Meg admitted, in her own particular way, that she liked having Castiel around.

“You needn’t worry about that,” he said, after a pause. “If I drift too far away, you can always catch me and bring me back to you.”

Meg turned to look at him, and raised a hand to gently place it over his shoulders. Castiel was disconcerted for a second before he understood the joke.

“I’m not far away now,” he laughed.

“I never know when you’re going to start drifting.”

Castiel moved a little away from her, just to see what she would do. Meg moved closer and again put a hand on his shoulder. Laughing, Castiel stood up and Meg did too, so fast the dress of her skirt fluttered around her for a moment. Castiel took a step backwards, and she stepped forwards at the same time.

“I see how this is,” Castiel said, rising an eyebrow. “I have become the prey all of the sudden.”

“Please,” Meg laughed. “Even preys have a better running chance than you do.”

“Shall we see about that?” Castiel asked, and before Meg could ask what he meant, he spun on his heels and ran as fast as he could towards the hedge maze.

“That’s not fair!” Meg screamed behind him, but he could hear the rustling of the grass as she went after him. “Castiel!”

Castiel only laughed as he dashed past the abused bushes and into the corridors of the maze. He didn’t think that he’s ever been in there, despite all the time he has spent at the castle. The hedges certainly looked taller and the halls they formed seemed to have more curves than he counted when he observed it from his window. He was so busy trying to outrun Meg he didn’t pay attention to the direction he was going, so when he stopped, panting and confused, all he could see was the grass underneath and the hedges towering over his head. To make it all worse, it was sunset, so in a few more minutes, it would be too dark for him to see where exactly he was going.

“Meg?” he called out, because there was a sudden silence behind him. He didn’t like that. Maybe there was a reason Meg never proposed they took a walk inside the maze. Maybe this was where she kept another of her secrets. He started wondering if he should try to find the way out when he heard her:

“Where did you go, bluebird?”

She didn’t sound angry at all, but curious, a little amused even. So Castiel smiled to himself and ran again, not caring that he was getting deeper into the labyrinth without any idea of how to find the way out.

“I’m going to find you,” Meg voice warned him. It seemed to be coming from somewhere at his left, so in the next bifurcation, Castiel took the right path until he found a dead end. “Oh, come on, you couldn’t have gone that far.”

Castiel frowned, because he could have sworn Meg’s voice was coming from right the other side of the hedge. She couldn’t have moved that fast, could she…?

And suddenly, it became entirely too clear what she was doing: she was cheating. She was using her magic to make it sound like she was closer than she really was, so he would come out of his hiding whenever he heard her close and eventually run into her.

It was quite clever. But he wasn’t going to fall for it so easily.

He put his hands around his mouth: “I’m right here!”

Then he started running again, as fast as he could, not even trying to figure out which way he was going.

“Where are you?” Meg’s voice came from somewhere behind him and then at his left: “I’m going to get you!”

“You’re certainly welcome to try,” Castiel laughed as he turned around another corner. Meg’s voice (or voices) were coming from three different places now, like she wasn’t even bothering to hide her cheating:

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Castiel! Where did you go?”

“I’m going to find you!”

Castiel listened, and ran. It took him a couple of minutes, but finally he figure out there was a pattern to them: there were in total three fake voices who always said the same thing. One of them taunted him to come out, one asked him where he was and the third assured him he was going to be found.

Meg’s real voice was the fourth one.

“This is a really stupid game, you know?”

“Oh, so you’re saying you don’t want to win it?” Castiel answered.

All the voices stopped at once. Castiel could almost see Meg smirking in his head.

He sprinted out of his hiding place, as fast as his feet could carry him, and took a turn for the left. He could see the labyrinth’s exit, the lake waiting for him at the end, and if he could only reach it before Meg did…

“Caught you!”

The hand on his shoulder came so suddenly Castiel practically jumped out of his skin. He lost his pace, stumbled on his own feet and ended up grabbing onto whatever was closest to try and keep his balance… except what was closer was Meg’s waist, and she was not prepared for it.

They landed face first on the ground, and Castiel ended up swallowing more than a handful of earth. At his side, he felt Meg trying to escape her grip, so he let go off her and sat up coughing.

“Well, that was…” he started, but he was interrupting but the joyful sound of Meg’s laughter.

“That was so much fun!” she exclaimed. “Let’s do it again!”

“Yeah… but… not right now,” Castiel panted. “I don’t know about you, my lady Meg, but I can’t exactly see in the dark.”

Meg looked up at the sky, like only then she realized that the night had fallen over their heads. Then she looked at Castiel, and she laughed again.

“Your face is so red!”

Castiel touched his cheeks to discover they were hot and sweaty, just before he noticed something else:

“Your dress,” he started, cringing. “It’s ruined.”

Meg looked down. Her pink dress was covered in wisps, and there was a green stain right over chest that would be impossible to clean off.

“Oh,” she muttered. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But…”

“Castiel, it was just an old rag,” she said, apparently amused at his concern. “I’m sure I can find another one.”

Castiel blinked at her. He had assumed, all that time, that she wore the dress because it had some sort of significance to her. It never occurred to him that she simply never cared for it. Then again, that perfectly explained the general sorry state of the clothes she wore.

“Well?” Meg asked, suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

“Well, what?”

“You haven’t proposed any challenge for me today and it’s almost dinner time,” Meg reminded him. “Though I must tell you, the last ones have been far too easy. I expect better from you this time.”

If Castiel was being honest, he hadn’t even thought about the challenges lately. For some reason, he kept forgetting about them and when Meg reminded him, he tended to improvise more often than not. And that was exactly what he did then:

“Can you name all the constellations above our heads?”

He half expected her to refuse the challenge for impossible, but she surprised him. She always did.

“I can,” she assured him. “But it’s going to take quite some time.”

“Well, I’m in no hurry,” Castiel laughed.

Meg threw him a glance he didn’t quite get the meaning of, and then pointed a finger at the sky.

“See those stars over there? Those form Orion the Hunter…”

“I see. And those?”

“Those form Perseus, and the ones next to it, Andromeda. They actually have a very interesting story.”

“Oh, I’d love to hear it.”

“I thought you didn’t like the way I tell stories,” Meg teased him, and Castiel had to laugh.

“Let’s see if you’ve improved.”

Meg was not about to pass up on the chance to show off, of course.

“Help me get up,” she said. Castiel took her hand, and she lassoed her arm around his as they made their way back to the castle. “So, once upon a time…”


	9. Chapter 9

It turned out Meg had been right not to worry about her dress. During the following weeks, she showed up every day with a different dress, and she asked, almost jokingly, what Castiel thought of them.

“Well, it’s certainly different,” Castiel said the first time she appeared on the library with something other than the old, raggedy pink dress. The one she had now was red and almost as raggedy, with a hole on one of the sleeves that was apparently the work of moths.

“Oh, don’t be scared to be honest with me,” Meg said, lifting her chin up high with pride. “I know it’s horrible.”

“That is not what I meant,” Castiel argued, although the contrast of the red against Meg’s grey scales was less than flattering.

“I’m not entirely sure where the castle is getting these from,” she complained. “I thought I told it to get rid of them.”

“Can’t you conjure up other dresses, if you don’t like those?” Castiel asked. “The way you’ve conjured up my clothes?”

“I’ve tried,” Meg groaned. “The dresses that keep appearing in my closet are all so impractical!”

“Impractical?” Castiel repeated. He didn’t know if he should laugh, but Meg looked so irritated he figured it was best not.

“They have these really big skirts and decorations,” Meg explained. “Like they’re meant for a great lady to go to a dance or something.”

“Ah, let me guess,” Castiel crooked an eyebrow. “You also disapprove of dancing.”

To his surprise, that earned him a glare and a back turned on him. For a second, he was certain Meg was going to walk out of the library and not talk to him for days on end again, but she stayed right where she was.

“I used to love dancing,” she confessed in the end, still not looking at him.

“Oh.”

Castiel couldn’t find anything smarter to say. He had assumed…

“I used to love a lot of things,” she continued. “Don’t think I’m not aware of the kind of person time and loneliness had turned me into. Of the things they had taken from me.”

Again, Castiel didn’t know how to reply. Meg seldom talked about her past, and when she did, she was always vague. He was curious about it, about her, about how she’d come to be what she was, but he still remembered how she’d stormed out the one time he’d tried to ask her about it.

So instead, he stepped closer and put a hand on her shoulder. Meg slowly moved her head to glance at him over her shoulder.

“Well, maybe you could take them back,” Castiel suggested, softly.

Meg huffed, like she did when Castiel suggested something ridiculous.

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“You could have a ball,” Castiel said. “If you love to dance, then nothing can stop from dancing. Didn’t you say you’re limitless here?”

Meg was clearly skeptic of Castiel’s reasoning, but she hadn’t ordered him to shut up or told him his idea was too stupid to ever work yet, so he insisted:

“I’m sure there are at least some instruments the castle could use to produce music. If there aren’t, you can conjure them up…”

“Right,” Meg interrupted him. “And who exactly would come to this ball you’re proposing?”

“Well, me, for starters,” Castiel shrugged. “And I would be honored if the lady of the castle grants me a dance.”

Meg stepped away from his grip.

“Don’t mock me,” she said, through gritted teeth.

“I am not,” Castiel assured. “Meg…”

But she had already disappeared. Castiel was pretty certain this would mean he’d be alone for a couple of days while Meg fumed out her anger, but that night at the dinner, he found her in her usual seat. She was wearing a blue dress this time, and Castiel understood perfectly what she meant by “impractical”: the sleeves were too wide for her to move her arms freely, and the skirt was so voluminous she looked like she had sunk in the chair.

Or maybe that was the impression he got because she was leaning against the back instead of closer to the table. She was also not pouring the wine in her goblet, and she didn’t answer when he greeted her. She didn’t even look at him when he sat right by her side.

“Meg?” he called her again.

Meg snapped out of whatever thoughts she was lost in.

“Oh, Cas,” she said, as if she was surprised to see him there. “I didn’t see you walk in.”

“I passed right in front of your face,” Castiel pointed out, slightly amused. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No,” Meg replied, fighting against her dress to fill her goblet. “Absolutely nothing wrong.”

But she was unusually tongue-tied that night, answering to Castiel’s attempt at conversation with nothing but monosyllabic words and nods that made him think she wasn’t really listening to him. She almost didn’t touch her wine at all, and whenever Castiel stopped speaking, her eyes would wander away from him, like she was seeing something in the living room that he couldn’t perceive.

Finally, Castiel decided it was best if he just asked and stretched his hand to place it over Meg’s. She startled and looked down at them, like it was the first time she noticed Castiel’s fingers on her.

“You’re the one who’s drifting far away from me tonight,” Castiel accused her. “Meg, I’m your friend. You can tell what’s worrying you.”

Meg stayed quiet for so long that Castiel thought she was going to lie to him that there was nothing wrong again or that she would simply leave without acknowledging his question. Instead, she took a deep breath, like she didn’t even know how to begin telling him.

“I’m not worried, exactly,” she said. “I’m… melancholic. Nostalgic.”

“For the balls you used to go to?” Castiel guessed.

“Well, yes,” Meg nodded. “But also, for what they meant. My father was a great lord, and he loved to have guests in the castle. Even the plebs was allowed to assist if they desired to do so. He said it was a way for us to show our generosity. My brother said it was a way to overwork our poor servants, who were frantic making sure everything was perfect.”

She smiled, and Castiel didn’t dare to interrupt her. It was rare that she would talk this long about her past, and he believed it was the first time he heard her mention her family at all.

“And I remember watching as everyone arrived,” she continued. “I remember the ladies in dresses like this, and the gentlemen bowing to them, trying to invite the most beautiful ones before all their pieces were taken…”

As she spoke, Castiel began to see it: the crowd of nobles laughing and sharing gossips, the servants running around, filling up cups and offering dishes for the guests to try out, a couple of lovers flirting and sneaking away from indiscreet looks under the lights by a great crystal chandelier hanging over their heads. He could almost hear the rumor of their chatter, the echo of their laughter…

“Young man, would you be so kind to pass that jar of wine?”

With a jolt, Castiel realized there was a fat man with an antiquated wig sitting right by his side. By her side, a lady fanned herself and looked at the man disapprovingly.

“Dear, you should not be drinking so soon,” she said, with a shrilling voice that seemed to drill into Castiel’s head. “The celebration has only just begun and…”

“Please, give me the wine,” the man begged. “I cannot deal with her sober! Heed my words, young man; don’t get married. And if you get married, make sure to have enough alcohol to last you a lifetime.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind, sir,” Castiel said, as he pushed the wine closer to the man.

When he looked around the table, he noticed all the seats had been occupied by women in dresses as impractical but as impressive as Meg’s, and men with coats embroidered in silver and golden complicated patterns. Their clothes were all old-fashioned, like they had gone out of style not decades, but centuries before. However, they seemed brand new, and the jewels in their fingers and around their necks glistened underneath the chandelier that yes, was not there before. Castiel could affirm it with absolute certainty because he had been dinning in that room every night for… weeks? Months?

It didn’t matter. There wasn’t a chandelier, and there also wasn’t a carpet underneath their feet. Even the wall hangings looked different, brighter, like they had just come out of the loom.

“Meg?” he asked, a little intimidated by those sudden changes.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Meg said, with a shrug. She seemed a little annoyed, but not entirely surprised. “They’re just shadows.”

“They’re not real?” Castiel asked, stunned.

He stretched his hand to try and snatch the glass of wine from the fat man, just to try it out. His fingers went right through him. The fat man continued to drink and ignore his wife’s nagging with the face of a true martyr, like he hadn’t even noticed the instruction.

“See? This is what happens when I get nostalgic,” Meg huffed. “The castle assumes I want to see these things.”

“But this is amazing!” Castiel exclaimed. “Meg, why you never told me…?”

“Because I don’t like seeing them,” she replied, angrily. “I don’t like that they remind me…”

Her voice trailed off, but Castiel wasn’t willing to drop the subject so easily.

“What?” he asked. “What do they remind you of?”

Meg didn’t answer. She watched the fat man drink and the lady fan herself for a long time before opening her mouth again:

“They remind me that I can’t turn the clock back.”

Castiel suddenly understood: all the people there, all those ghosts (he wondered if her brother and her father were among them) belonged to a world that was lost to her forever. A place she could never return to. That was why it broke her heart to think about dancing. All of them had disappeared… and she was still there.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “Meg, if you don’t want to see them, you can just… make them go away. Can’t you?”

Meg didn’t answer, but she looked at the side. A musician was opening his case, and extracting (of all instruments) a lute from it, adjusting the pegs and checking on the strings. He tentatively ran his fingers across it, producing a single deep note that made the entire room go quiet at once. Then, someone laughed and couples started forming on the open spaces, with reverences and smiles on their faces.

“Maybe just once piece,” Meg muttered.

The lutenist began a fast, animated piece, and the couples moved towards one another, extending their hands and spinning around. The coat-tail and the dresses rustle as they danced together, their shoes clattered over the floor with every step they took. Meg watched them unable to hide her fascination, and although it was quite interesting, Castiel was looking at her. He wondered how many times had she watched that dance, wishing to join her ghosts without being able to bring herself to. How many decades she had spent roaming that castle, with regret and rage as their only companions, how many memories she had to fight every day just to stay alive.

How lonely she was.

Meg’s black eyes widened in surprise when Castiel stood in front of her, a hand extended in invitation.

“May I have this dance?”

She stared at him, her mouth parted interrogatively.

“Would you still ask me to dance if I wasn’t the only girl in the room who could actually dance with you?”

“I can’t imagine having a better partner,” Castiel replied, with a shrug and smile.

Meg smiled as well. She took Castiel’s hand and let him lead her to the middle of the dance floor. The ghosts stepped aside, with their eyes fixed on them. Castiel could hear the ladies muttering behind their fans, and the lutenist hurrying up to stand near them.

“One thing, though,” Castiel said, feeling the blood rushing to his face. “I’m… not entirely sure how…”

“You don’t know how to dance?” Meg chuckled.

“I don’t happen to know this particular dance,” Castiel replied, feeling his face getting redder. “But if you’re patient enough…”

“Put your palm against mine,” she said, still smiling. “And just do what I do.”

The song that began was softer and slower, maybe to give Castiel time to learn the movements. They started spinning around, Meg holding the skirt of her dress so she could move better. Castiel looked around, trying to find a clue for what to do next, but Meg was on it:

“Now, put your arm around my waist,” she indicated.

Castiel hurriedly obeyed her and Meg intertwined her fingers with his. Her skin was rough as usual, but he didn’t think it was as cold as it had been. Maybe it was because of the warmth of his hand over hers. She put the other hand on his shoulder, and slowly started guiding him into a spinning movement across the room. Castiel tried to move his feet in the same manner as her, but he found himself focusing too much on them. His body got stiff every time Meg tried to get him to spin, and more than once he was certain he was about to stumble.

“Relax,” she instructed him, after the third time he turned in the contrary direction. “Just… don’t think about it too much.”

“I’m trying,” Castiel said, with a grimace. “My sister Anna is the one who was good at this.”

“Really?” Meg asked. “How is she?”

Castiel realized that, despite the fact he thought about his family every day, he talked about them perhaps as little as Meg talked about her past.

“Well, she was always gracious and smart,” he said. “She has a temper as terrible as my mother’s, but it’s not as quick to arise. That would be my brother Michael,” he added, with another cringe.

“Is he difficult to love too?”

“Sometimes,” Castiel admitted. “He’s a very practical man. Like you, he doesn’t understand the importance of stories and would have liked me to take my eyes off my book some time. If he decides to undertake a task, you can bet your last dime that he’s going to see it through.”

“And your other brother?”

“Well, Gabriel is the exact opposite. It’s hard for him to take anything seriously. He always has a quip or a joke about something…”

Castiel went quiet all of the sudden, because he realized then exactly what Meg was doing: he had got so distracted talking about his family that he had stopped noticing what he was doing with his body. While he wasn’t paying attention, his feet had found a pace and where moving in time with Meg’s.

“Congratulations, bluebird,” she laughed, cheerfully. “You’re dancing.”

Castiel almost stiffened again, but when Meg stepped backwards, he realized there was no reason to. She spun with her hand still on his and returned. This time, when he put his hand around Meg’s waist, his grip was a lot firmer. They spun around the room, Meg’s dress twirling around her legs and grazing his, their steps in perfect synchrony. When the song ended, the ghosts burst into applause. Meg and Castiel both took a bow, and when a new song started, Castiel didn’t even have to ask if Meg wanted to keep dancing.

“Well, you really are limitless,” he joked, as they moved around. “If you could make a dancer out of me, I’m ready to admit there’s virtually nothing you can’t do in here.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” Meg replied. “I’m sure there are plenty of challenges you can come up with. I haven’t finished naming all the constellations yet.”

“I have no doubt you will achieve that in time.”

They took another spin, and Meg’s smile was slowly replaced by a frown of confusion.

“But your family,” she reminded him. “Don’t you miss them?”

“Dearly,” Castiel admitted. “But they have each other. You, on the other hand…”

Meg halted.

The music stopped, and the room became darker. The chandelier and all the ghostly guests had vanished in thin air, as suddenly as they had appeared.

“No,” she said, taking a step backwards to get away from him.

Castiel surprised by that reaction. Maybe she hadn’t understood what he meant, so he tried to explain himself better.

“Meg, I have come to care for you…” he started, but Meg lifted a finger in the air to hush him.

“Think very carefully about what you’re going to say, Castiel,” she said. “Because once you do, you can’t take it back.”

Castiel opened his mouth and then closed it again. Meg stared at him, expectantly. She looked tensed, alarmed, like a scared animal that would run away if he make any sudden movements. So he took a step backwards.

“Meg, I consider us friends,” he started. “You’re kind and wise, even if you don’t realize it. You have taught me so many things about myself…”

“Stop,” she said.

Castiel did, for a moment, before starting again.

“I would like to stay by your side,” he said. “If you allow me to.”

Meg stayed immobile, her black eyes fixed on him. Castiel held his breath, not entirely sure how she would react.

He certainly did not expect the rictus of anger that appeared in her mouth. She clenched her fists tightly on the skirt of her dress, like she needed to hold on to something lest she started hitting the walls again.

“Why did you have to say that?” she cried out. “You’ve ruined everything!”

She didn’t disappear this time. She simply turned around and ran out of the room.

“Meg!” Castiel called her, but Meg had already crossed the doors, that slammed closed behind her.

The silent in the dining room was deafening. Castiel stood in the middle of it, stunned. He had been honest with Meg, the way he always tried to be. Why had that upset her so much? Why did he…?

And suddenly, he realized she couldn’t let her walked out like that. Not this time. He needed an answer; he needed to know if it was really that terrible that he wanted to stay with her. The doors docilely open for him when he ran towards them, and he stopped for a second, hesitating. If Meg didn’t want him to find her, she had ways to do that, but he was not about to give up that easily.

“Meg!” he called out again.

Would she be upstairs hiding from him in one of the rooms that constantly appeared and disappeared in the castle? If she did, would the castle obey him if he asked it to guide him to her? He really had nothing to lose. He looked around, not entirely sure how to proceed.

“Please,” he said to the empty room. “I just want to talk to her.”

Nothing happened.

Castiel was about to try his luck upstairs when the doors to the grounds opened by themselves. He didn’t think twice and ran outside.

“Meg?” he called again, but there was no answer.

The garden was a dismal sight. The stars and the moon were covered by heavy dark clouds, like Meg intended in conjuring up another storm. Or maybe she just wanted to discourage him from coming outside in that disorienting darkness. Whichever the case, Castiel walked down the steps and looked around puzzled. The best place to hide out there was the hedge maze, as it was confusing and big enough for anyone to lose themselves in there.

A fortuitous wind dissipated the clouds. The moon appeared over the trees, full and bright, illuminating the grounds a ghostly glimmer. Castiel saw its reflection over the waters of the lake (even though he could have sworn he hadn’t been heading in the lake’s direction) a second before he caught a glimpse of a figure by its shore.

She was surrounded by shadows, but he still could see she was in a weird position, kneeling and leaning over so close to the ground she seemed like nothing but a lump. Castiel started walking faster, with a sudden panic growing in his stomach that something might have happened to her. But as he approached her, he heard it.

There were grumbles and hisses filling the air. He stopped and looked around, but everything in the grounds was quiet and unmoving. There weren’t even owls taking flight or squirrels hurrying up back to their holes. When he took another step, the grass rustled underneath her feet, and she straightened up.

It was hard to see her features in that light, but he could distinguish the silhouette of her horns against the sky. The front of her dress seemed darker for some reason, and she remained immobile, with her eyes fixed on him, for a very long time.

Something squealed into the night, startling Castiel. She looked back down and raised her hands, and only then Castiel noticed she was holding onto something: a large, black rat. It was alive, and by the way it tossed and wriggle in her grip, terrified.

She held it by the tail and raised it up into the air. Her jaw dislocated with a crack that sent a shiver down Castiel’s spine. The rat shook its little legs in the air, screeching in horror as she began to lower it down to her open, eager mouth…

With bile burning in his throat, Castiel fled from the Beast.

 

* * *

 

The place had not been easy to find. Michael had lost count of the days he’d spent travelling. He’d had to stop regularly to do menial jobs here and there to keep him and his horse fed. Thanks to that, it had been an infuriatingly slow journey, and on top of that, he had the constant, annoying feeling that he was chasing his tail. Ruby had given her the direction of another midwife, Pamela, who had instructed him to go two towns over to look for a woman named Madame Moseley, who in turned had sent him on his way to a man named Oliver Price, who had promptly slammed the door on his face when Michael explained to him what he wanted.

“Go away!” the mousy, old man had screamed from inside his cabin. “I can’t help you!”

Michael had kicked the door down and grabbed the man by the lapels of his coat.

“Listen to me,” he had growled in his face. “I’m going to find my brother, not matter what it takes, do you hear me? So you’re either going to tell me what I need to know, or I’ll beat it out of you.”

It hadn’t been his proudest moment, but it had got some results. Stammering and sweating, Price had finally given him the name and the address of the person he was looking for.

At first sight, the inn looked seedy to say the least. It was badly illuminated, it reeked of stale alcohol and Michael could have sworn he saw a small rat or an exceptional large cockroach running in front of his feet. He felt the sting of the costumer’s stares while he stepped inside, but he held his head up high and he strode in with confidence.

The innkeeper pointedly ignored him when he tapped his knuckles on the greasy counter. Michael cleared his throat and tapped again. Finally, after it was obvious that the man had no intentions of serving him, Michael raised his voice:

“Can I get some ale, please?”

The innkeeper finally turned around to look at him. He was no taller than Michael, but his shoulders were broader and his small eyes were filled with suspicion. Michael gazed back at him, refusing to blink until, until the innkeeper put a dirty glass in front of him. He took out a bottle and poured a yellow liquid on it that was too pale to be ale. Michael put his hand around it, but decided it was best not to drink.

“Thank you,” he said, hoping the sarcasm wasn’t too obvious. “Perhaps you can help me, good sir.”

“I ain’t good and I ain’t a sir,” the innkeeper replied with a thick accent Michael didn’t recognize. “And I don’t know what a man like you is looking for here, but you ain’t going to find it. So drink your drink and be on your way now.”

Michael bit back a curse. Despite the fact he was wearing clothes worn out by the journey, it was pretty clear he could never have blended with the likes that went to that bar. But unless Price had lied to his face (which he couldn’t rule out completely), he was exactly where he needed to be.

“I’m looking for a woman.”

“Try a couple houses down the block,” the innkeeper shrugged. “This is a decent establishment.”

Michael managed not to laugh, but what came out of his mouth was even more offensive: a huff of disbelief. The innkeeper squinted his eyes and Michael understood he was a moment away from telling his clients to kick him out of there without mercy.

“A specific woman,” he clarified. “One Rowena MacLeod. I’ve heard she can help me.”

There were several scratches from chairs being moved. Michael looked over his shoulder only to confirm what he already suspected: at least five or six patrons had got up and were throwing unfriendly glares in his direction.

The innkeeper, however, managed to keep his composure.

“We’ve never heard of anyone called that,” he lied. “Go away now.”

“This is about my family and an old acquaintance of hers,” Michael continued. At least his voice came out firm, and he could hide the fact his hands were trembling by holding onto the glass really tight. “I’ve been assured she’ll like to hear this.”

“Maybe, but like I said…”

“Leave it, Oskar,” a female voice interrupted them. “Boys, please be so kind to sit back down.”

No one moved for a heartbeat or two.

Then, one by one, all the patrons sat or backed down until there was only one of them standing in the furthest corner of the inn. She removed her hood to let long longs of red hair fall over her shoulders.

“I am Rowena MacLeod,” the woman declared, in the same strange accent of the innkeeper. “And you have piqued my curiosity, young traveler.”

With a long finger, she indicated him to go over his table, so Michael obeyed.

In the darkness of the inn, he had thought her cape was black, but up close, he realized it was purple with silver embroidery. She had a pointy nose and high cheeks. By the stories he had been told, Michael expected to find an old, frail woman, but she looked younger even than his father.

A soft smell of sage and lilies tickles his nose when he sat in Rowena’s table. There was a faint crackling around her, like the air when a lightning was about to strike. The woman looked at him with a knowing grin in her thin lips, and Michael knew that none of the midwives, healers or self-proclaimed mages he had encountered on his journey could ever measure up to her. That was what real power looked and felt like.

“Well?” she asked, resting her chin on her hand. “You have a story to tell me?”

Oskar approached them with a jar of ale (actual ale this time), and diligently poured two glasses for them. Michael drank down half of his before he began telling her: her father’s journey, his story about the Beast when he came back, the impossible rose, and finally, Castiel’s mysterious disappearance.

As he kept talking, Rowena’s smile slowly vanished. When Michael finished, she emptied her glass in one gulp.

“So she lives,” she muttered to herself. Her face had become somber.

“You know her?” Michael asked, half-surprised, half-relieved to hear it. It was the confirmation of all his hopes, and also all of his fears. His father hadn’t been crazy. He hadn’t been chasing his tail in a fool’s errand. Castiel was alive.

And the monster that had taken him was real.

Rowena looked at him with barely contained anger in her green eyes.

“Of course I know her,” she said. “She killed my son.”


	10. Chapter 10

The air was light and cold when Castiel woke up. The clouds were still covering up the sky, like a storm was looming closer. That should have probably warned him that Meg was in a foul mood, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had slept badly, woken up every few hours by horrible nightmares, and he was tired, angry and more than a little bit scared. If Meg wanted to avoid him, that was just fine, but if she didn’t, he was going to tell her exactly what was on his mind.

He walked down the stairs like he did every morning, but his breakfast tasted like ashes in his mouth. The weather outside wasn’t exactly inviting and in any case, he was not yet ready to face what had happened on the grounds. So he thought he would buried himself in books and words until he had either calmed down or Meg had showed up to talk to him.

She was standing outside the library, almost as if she had been waiting for him. He had almost expected her to be wearing the same dress as last night to let him see the stains of earth and blood it surely had, but  she’d had the delicacy to change.

“Good morning, Castiel,” she greeted him, cautiously. “I didn’t expect to see you about.”

“It’s not like I have elsewhere to be,” Castiel answered. His irritation sipped through his tone and he cursed himself.

Meg lifted up her chin, proud and terrible as always.

“If you’re expecting me to apologize for what happened last night, you must know that I cannot.”

“I don’t expect you to do anything, my lady Meg,” Castiel replied. “It would be unfair and ungrateful after everything you’ve done for me.”

He spun on his heels, decided to lock himself in his room, but Meg clearly decided she had not said her last word.

“What did you think I live on? On air, on the wisdom you appreciate so much?” she asked, her steps clattering on the floor behind him. “I’m alive, therefore I must eat.”

“You said you would not apologize,” Castiel reminded her, taking a turn he was pretty certain it wasn’0t there two seconds before. “Please, do as you say and leave me alone.”

“I will, once you have heard why what you intend and what you feel is foolish and dangerous,” Meg replied. Her voice sounded frustrated. Castiel stood immobile while she walked around him and stood in front of him. “I am not the wise, lonely sorcerer you believed me to be,” she declared. “I am not a sad princess trapped in a hideous body. The only kindness I have ever shown you was in letting you forget exactly what my nature was.”

“So that’s what you intended last night?” Castiel asked, clenching his fist. “Reminding me exactly what kind of Beast you are? You should not have bothered. I keep it in mind every day.”

“I don’t think you do. You would have left a long time ago if that were the case.”

“I am a prisoner. How can I leave?”

“You could have asked me to,” Meg said, frustrated. “I’ve waited days, weeks for you to come to that realization. You could have claimed your freedom as your prize for answering my question. Why didn’t you?!”

She almost screamed the last words at his face. Castiel didn’t say a word. He _had_ thought about it. At length. He had carefully contemplated that possibility, and then he had discarded it, because of her. Because he didn’t want her to be alone, despite who she was, despite _what_ she was.

Why couldn’t she see that?

Meg took a deep breath, apparently trying to control her temper.

“I have something for you,” she said, making a gesture with her hand like a magician.

Castiel looked at what she was offering him. It was a rose, as perfect and big as the ones outside, but it was unlike any rose that existed in the world: its velvety petals were of a deep, radiant blue. Castiel knew he was supposed to be stunned, but his anger and his frustration prevented him from it.

“How… unusual,” he muttered.

“Is that all you have to say?” Meg asked, huffing. “It was not easy to get this rose. I’ve been trying for months to get that damned bush to do what I wanted. It tried to give me a lavender one, then tried it with a purple. But I would not let it rest until it’d given me the perfect blue.”

“You need not to have tried so hard,” Castiel groaned, looking away from both her and the rose.

He could practically feel the anger emanating from Meg, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if she punched walls, if she crushed that impossible rose, if she finally expelled him from the castle. Nothing mattered if she didn’t…

“This is the only blue rose in the world, Castiel,” she said, through gritted teeth, interrupting his thoughts. “And I created it because you told me to. You’ve realized it too, haven’t you? You can never win this game. But it doesn’t matter because you’ve stopped trying to win. You’ve stopped looking for the way out. You’re no longer a prisoner here.”

“Pray tell, then, what exactly am I,” Castiel asked, finally turning his gaze to her.

Meg’s face was blank. If she was feeling anything, it didn’t show in her expression.

“A guest,” she said, simply. “And guests can leave whenever they please.”

Castiel let out a mirthless laugh.

“If you want so badly to expel me from your home, then why don’t you do just that?”

“That is not…”

“You have given me a world of impossibilities,” Castiel interrupted her. She’d had her say, it was his turn. “You have shown me wonders beyond my wildest dreams, beyond _anyone’s_ dreams. You have proven again and again that you’re so much more than your beastly exterior. And now you tell me that I’m not allowed to care for you, that I’m supposed to go back to the ordinary life I can’t want anymore and you won’t even bother to explain the reason to me. You’re unfair and cruel.”

“Castiel…”

“Can you feel anything at all for me?” Castiel continued. “Can you consider me a friend like I do you? Or is it part of your _nature_ to experiment nothing but rage and resentment?”

Meg didn’t answer. Her hand was limp at the side of her body, still clutching the blue rose in it.

“I would like to be alone now,” he concluded in a whisper.

“Yes, of course,” Meg said in a whisper.

He was expecting her to stay where she was and let him move along, but instead, she disappeared in the blink of an eye. Castiel stared at the empty hallways in front of him, and he had to bite his tongue to call her again. He wanted to be with her like they had been before, he wanted them to laugh and tell each other stories and pretend none of those other words between them had been said.

The blue rose rested on the floor, abandoned and sad. Castiel picked it up with a pang of guilt in his chest.

This time, when he turned around the corner, he had no problems finding the way to his room.

 

* * *

 

He spent the day pacing around. The castle brought him books, the type of books about stories in faraway lands, but after he’d read a few lines, he forgot what the plot was supposed to be about and he had to start again. He left it in frustration, walked about his room like an animal in cage and then tried to read again, to no avail.

Finally, at eight, he decided perhaps he should have an early dinner and go to bed early. He doubted Meg would join him that night, like she hadn’t after he had saved her from drowning. But this time, he was dreading her return. Because this time, everything would change.

So he was startled to see her sitting in her usual place. There were no plates or glasses on the table, however. Just her, resting her chin on her hand and looking more melancholic and lonely that Castiel had ever seen her.

“Goodnight, Castiel,” she greeted him in a hoarse voice. He had never heard her sound so sad and defeated, like she had been crying.

“Meg…” he started. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Perhaps apologize, perhaps telling her he was the one who had been unfair, anything…

Meg stood up and stared at him from the other side of the room.

“Do you really want to know why I can’t let you stay after what you told me?” she asked. “Do you think it will make it easier for you?”

“It would…” Castiel started, but he shook his head. What he was about to say was a lie, and in that moment, if she was willing to give him the truth, then he owed her no less. “Nothing would make leaving your side easier. At least, I don’t think so. But it would help me understand.”

Mg nodded and walked towards him very slowly, like she thought he was going to run away if she moved to fast.

“Come with me, then,” she indicated him.

They left the dining room and turned on a corridor with black bricks. Castiel had never seen it, but he had already learnt the castle had more secrets than he would ever know. Meg grabbed a torch from one of the walls and led the way.

“Are you in the mood for a story?” she asked. “This is a real one, I promise.”

Castiel didn’t say anything, and Meg apparently interpreted that as a yes.

“Once upon a time, fairies travelled freely between their realm and ours. They granted magic and gifts to the humans they deemed worthy, and they lived in harmony and peace. But there was a witch named Rowena who thought the fairies were cheating the humans by not teaching them the way to manipulate time, death and love. She was powerful and well renowned, so she convinced several witches and mages to declare war on the fairies.”

“It doesn’t sound like a wise decision,” Castiel commented.

“Oh, it wasn’t,” Meg shook her head. “The effects of the war were devastating for both sides. Most of the fairies simple retreated to their kingdom, but the ones who chose to stay were massacred or tortured by the sorcerers trying to steal their secrets. The fairies extracted revenge for their fallen brothers and sisters in the cruelest ways, so the witches were decimated too. Rowena was at the edge of losing her army, so she turned to a rich nobleman who could provide her with an army. She promised him she would share the secrets with him, and once she took over the fairy kingdom, she would make his daughter the queen heiress.”

Castiel was about to ask what did that mean and why it had to do with her, but he realized:

“You,” he said. “You were the nobleman’s daughter.”

“The condition, of course, was that I was to marry Fergus, Rowena’s son,” Meg nodded. “My father told Rowena he would think about it, so he would have time to talk it over with us. My brother and me, I mean.”

Castiel could do nothing but stare at her with eyes wide open. Meg continued walking down the darkened hall, and Castiel had to hurry to keep up with her.

“Tom was an excellent strategist,” she kept telling him. “He told my father there was little to be gained from that deal. Even with our armies, Rowena could still lose the war, and we would be left defenseless and with a new dangerous enemy. As for me…”

Meg stopped. They had reached the end of the hall, and there appeared to be nothing but a wall in front of them.

“Well, I was young and stupid,” she declared.

She raised the torch to light up the wall, and only then Castiel saw what was hanging from it. It was a portrait with a golden frame. It looked old and the colors were faded, but he could still appreciate the face in them: it showed a girl who couldn’t be older than eighteen or nineteen. She had a lovely round face, with big, expressive brown eyes, and wavy black hair that fell loose over her shoulder. She was wearing a lavender dress, and the hand in her lap was holding on to a rose. The smirk on her lips was playful, almost as if she was about to burst into laughter.

Meg didn’t need to clarify who she was.

“I wanted to marry for love,” she said. “My father adored me, so he would have allowed it, even if I have chosen a commoner or a kitchen boy. But I wanted to meet Fergus. I have heard stories about his bravery, about what a cunning, fearless warrior he was. So I begged Father to invite him and Rowena to my birthday ball. That was the last ball I ever attended.”

She lowered the torch. Her face seemed blurry under that dim light, but Castiel still got the impression she looked lost and hurt, like all those memories had just come back to hurt her.

“Meg, you don’t have to…”

“No,” Meg shook her head. “I said I would explain it to you, so I will.”

However, she turned around without saying another word. Castiel followed her in silence, sensing it would be a mistake to ask her to keep going. The way back and out from the passage seemed shorter, and once out, Meg opened the doors and stepped outside, like she needed a breath of fresh air after that. Castiel stayed by her, standing atop of the stars while the full moon shone on them.

“It was a night like this,” Meg continued, finally. “Everybody was dancing and laughing. Fergus was… he was charming and handsome and everything I imagined him to be. He asked if he could see our roses, and like an idiot, I guided him outside. I thought he wanted to be alone with me so we could talk. I might have had a few drinks on me too.”

She shook her head, and extended her hand until the moonlight touched it.

“The moon is told to vanquish all illusions, or maybe there was a fairy that night decided to sabotage Rowena’s plans,” she said. “When I turned around, I discovered my handsome prince was an old, short man with a slimy grin.”

Castiel frowned. He had the strange feeling he had heard that story before, but not exactly like that.

“I wouldn’t have minded so much,” Meg said. “Or maybe I would have. I really don’t know. I didn’t have time to recover from the shock. He lunged himself at me, he knocked me down, he…”

Her voice trailed off.

“Meg…” Castiel said. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to go on, if it was too painful for her, if…

“Tom came to my rescue,” Meg continued. She was looking away into the distance, and Castiel almost thought he heard a faint scream and the whizzing of a sword leaving its scabbard. “He had followed us because he didn’t trust Fergus, and I was ever so glad that he was so suspicious. He threw Fergus away and loudly declared that we would never form an alliance with them. Fergus didn’t take the humiliation well. Turned out Rowena wasn’t the only one with powers in the family.”

“He cursed you,” Castiel guessed.

“Yes,” Meg stared at her hand it with curiosity, like it was the first time she saw it. “He turned me into this. He said I didn’t deserve to be beautiful and loved, so he took both away from me. I reached out for my brother,” she extended her hand into the empty air, as if to illustrate it. “But he ran away from me, horrified, and I knew… I knew nobody would ever look at me again without fear and repulse in their eyes.”

She closed her fist and pulled it back towards her. Castiel felt heaviness in his chest and the burning of tears in his eyes. He knew Meg must have had a story that didn’t end well, but to be rejected that way by her own family…

“The curse had a secondary effect, though,” Meg said. “I don’t think Fergus expected it, but it gave me strength and magic. I wasn’t trying to kill him when I attacked him… well, maybe I was. In any case, his death is probably the one thing I am never going to regret.”

She didn’t say how Fergus had died, if she had done it with magic or with her hands. Castiel figured it didn’t really make a different.

“And that was the end of it,” Meg sighed. “Rowena was furious, but unlike her son, she knew she couldn’t curse us without it turning on her. You see, magic is all about balance, and when Fergus turned his against me, he wanted to hurt me out of spite, not because I had really wronged him. And he deserved the end he got. So Rowena just left. She lost the war. I don’t know what happened to her afterwards. I don’t think she died; she was too smart to let herself be captured. As for me… my father locked me away in the castle.”

“That’s terrible!” Castiel exclaimed.

“Is it?” Meg shrugged. “I thought so too, and I resented him for a very long time, but I came to understand why he did it. His daughter had just been replaced by a horrific beast. He couldn’t even be sure I was still me. And I wasn’t exactly being easy at the time either. You’ve seen me get angry. Imagine what I was like back then, frustrated and scared and with my powers out of control. Of course my father thought he needed to protect others from me.”

“Maybe he was trying to protect you,” Castiel suggested. “From people who might have wanted to hurt you.”

Meg scoffed.

“Even if that had been the case, it would have ended badly for them,” she said. “Anyway, the servants fled. We became secluded and for many years, it was just the three of us. Finally, my father passed away from old age. I wasn’t with him when it happened. Tom just came into my chamber and informed me of it. He also told me he planned to continue the lineage and restore our house to its former glory, but he couldn’t tempt any potential brides with rumors of a monstrous woman living there. So I had to leave.”

“He kicked out of your own home?” Castiel asked, scandalized. He couldn’t believe it. The same brother that had come to her defense; that had cared for her…

“In the end, it turned to be the best for me,” Meg shrugged. “Turns out monsters can travel quite comfortably as long as they have money and hide their faces.”

Her tone was so casual that Castiel closed his mouth. He understood. Meg had no interest in reviving that story with her brother. If she had forgiven him it had been a long time ago, and if she hadn’t… well, it wasn’t Castiel’s concern.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

“To look for the fairies, of course,” Meg replied. “It occurred to me that if someone knew how to break the curse, it had to be them. They were actually very accepting. They have different ideas about monstrosity and compassion. They taught me how to use my powers and they gave me books to continue my education when I left. I came back here to find out my brother had died without descendants and the castle was now abandoned. So I decided to make it my home, my haven. And so, I’m here.”

“And you never found out how to break the curse,” Castiel guessed.

“Oh, no, I did,” Meg replied.

She turned around and retreated inside the castle. Castiel followed suit, closing the doors behind them. Meg stood near the stairs, observing him, perhaps waiting for him to ask something. He stood right where he was, not trying to close the distance between them, and didn’t say anything. This was Meg’s story, and she needed to tell it however it was best for her.

After a moment, she sighed.

“Time, love and death,” she recited.

“The three forces magic can’t control,” Castiel remembered. It was the first thing Meg had ever taught him.

“They can also be the three forces to undo any magic,” Meg explained. “Illusions fade in time, and of course, no magic can keep death at bay forever. In my case, well… by turning me into this half animal, Fergus explicitly intended to destroy any possibility for me to love be loved. So if someone ever, sincerely, willingly, loved me, and I loved them in return, overcoming my beastly nature, that meant his curse would be defeated.”

“But that’s… that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Castiel asked. “You found a way to break the curse, that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“And have you wondered why I haven’t broken it yet?” Meg asked, with a little scoff.

Castiel opened his mouth to say it was because she had been isolated in that castle for so long, but he realized that couldn’t be it. Meg had admitted her reclusion was voluntary, that she’d returned to the castle and stayed there because she wanted to.

“I don’t want to break it,” Meg answered her own question. “I have griown used to be what I am.”

“But…” Castiel began, not entirely sure what he wanted to say, but beginning to understand. He already cared for her so deeply it wouldn’t be hard to imagine that he could fall for her. Was that why she wanted him gone? Why wouldn’t she want to break it? He couldn’t imagine being loved after so many years, after so many sad losses she’d endured, would be really that bad…

Meg hushed whatever argument he was trying to think of with just one look.

“You shouldn’t want my curse broken either,” she declared. “What do you think will happen if you fall in love with me? I’ll lose my powers. And this world of impossibilities you like so much? It’ll vanish with my magic. You’ll be forced back into that ordinary life you have come to despise. You’ll be stuck with that girl in the portrait, and yes, she’s beautiful, but her beauty will fade in time too. You’ll end up hating her for what she took from you.”

Meg walked towards him, like what she was about to say had to be said while looking at him in the face.

“And you see, you hating me it’s the one thing I can never endure.”

Her eyes were almost shinning despite their blackness, almost as if there tears forming in them.

“I could never hate you,” Castiel said, sincerely. “I don’t know if I could love you, Meg. But I can never hate you.”

“You say that now,” Meg chuckled, but it was a mirthless sound. “But you don’t know it.”

“How can I know it?” Castiel replied. “You said it yourself, magic and fate have their own paths, and no one knows what they are. How can you be so certain we’ll fall apart?”

“I can’t,” Meg admitted. “But just the possibility terrifies me. Unlike your mother, Castiel, you’re _too_ easy to love. And that’s why you have to leave.”

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment. Was Meg saying that she _could_ fall in love with him too? Or that she had already? If that was the case, maybe that’s why she wanted him gone. Maybe it was too painful for her to have him around, and he knew he had to respect that.

“But I’ll lose you,” he muttered.

There was a strange oppression over his chest, like someone was squeezing his heart. Meg placed her hand against his cheek, gently. A few months back, Castiel would have rejected that contact. Now he leaned into that cold, rough contact like it was the gentlest of caresses.

“You’ll lose me either way,” she said. “So… don’t you think is best we part ways while we’re still friends? Before we taint the memories of the good times we spent together?”

Before they grew bitter and disillusioned. Like the unicorn.

Castiel placed his hand on top of hers. No, he didn’t think it, but he had no choice. She had made her wishes abundantly clear.

“I’ll leave,” he promised. “If that’s what you really want.”

Meg just nodded.

“Go to sleep,” she instructed him, stepping away again. “You’ll have a long walk tomorrow to get back home.”

This time she didn’t vanish, and Castiel was thankful for that. He stared at the back of her dress until she faded in the shadows upstairs.

 

* * *

 

The following day started like any other in the castle. Castiel woke up in his bed, and for a moment he wondered why he felt like he had been run over by a horse or a carriage. Then he remembered.

He followed his usual routine of shaving and getting dressed, but every one of his movements was slower than usual. He wanted to extend his stay in the castle as long as he could, in the hopes that maybe Meg would change her mind after all.

The breakfast was served with its usual opulence, except there were two things placed right next to it: a satchel, and a small jewelry box placed to a note with Meg’s handwriting: “For your family”. Inside the satchel, there was a map, a compass, a loaf of bread, a piece of cheese and some apples. Meg was making sure that he could find his way home and that he wouldn’t show up back home empty-handed.

Castiel ate his breakfast with the same slowness, until he was so full he couldn’t take another bite. Then he stood up, put the jewelry box away inside the satchel and hanged it around his neck. He stood in the lobby, wondering if he should go upstairs to look for Meg, to say goodbye to her. But he concluded that was an unnecessary precaution.

“I’m leaving now,” he announced to the empty space. He took one step towards the door, only to find Meg waiting there for him.

“You should probably take this,” she said, showing him the brown cape she had in her hands. “I don’t know what kind of weather you’ll encounter outside the castle.”

“You’re too generous,” Castiel said.

“Never been accused of that before,” Meg commented, throwing the cape around his shoulders. She tied it carefully; almost as deliberately slow as he had been acting all morning. When she finished, she looked up and smiled. “Have a good journey,” she wished him.

Castiel didn’t know what to answer to that, so he just said what was on his mind.

“I’m going to miss you,” he told her, grabbing her hand. “I’ll never forget you.”

“Me neither, bluebird,” she promised. Then she stepped aside as the doors opened for Castiel to get out. “Go now. You’re losing day light.”

Castiel had wished that they’d have time for one last stroll across the grounds, but that seemed impossible. One, because Meg clearly wanted him out as soon as possible. And two, because as soon as he stepped outside the castle, he found himself in front of the black gates.

He blinked, confused, and looked back over her shoulder. The castle was far behind him, silent and still. Castiel’s first impulse was to run back and beg Meg to at least give him time for one last stroll around the grounds with her. But he supposed she was right. The longer he waited, the harder it’d be for him to leave.

“Goodbye,” he muttered once more. He had no doubt in his mind Meg could hear him. He pushed the gates open, and stepped outside.


	11. Chapter 11

The ground was covered in leaves that rustled underneath his boots. Castiel looked around, confused and disoriented. All the trees in the woods had naked branches and the sunlight shining through them was cold and pale. A light breeze went through his hair, making him hang onto the cape to avoid it.

Autumn. It was autumn in the outside world. Which meant he had been gone almost a year.

He glanced over his shoulder once more, not entirely sure what he expected to see. There was nothing but more threes and dead leaves everywhere.

The castle was gone. For someone who didn’t know, it would be like it had never been there at all.

His knees felt week. There was a strange emptiness inside his chest, and a part of him just wanted to sit on a rock and just stay there, perhaps to call out for Meg again. Would she come? Or would she be firmer in her decision than he was?

In any case, he would gain nothing by standing over there. He took the map out of the satchel and tried to find his way.

The first thing that was made abundantly clear was that he would have never reached the castle in the first place if it hadn’t been for magic. He was in the middle of the forest, without any concrete idea of how far away from his town he was, and all the trees and rocks he tried to use as reference of the direction he was going started to look the same after a while. His own sense of direction wasn’t of much help either. At noon (or what he though was noon) he stopped by a rock to eat some cheese and the apple. Even though he could have sworn he walked away in a straight line, less than an hour later he found the rock again, with the apple core lying right beside it.

Meg’s map and compass didn’t help either. His town (although it looked significantly smaller) and the mines his brothers worked were clearly marked, but they looked surrounded by the forest. Castiel imagined that might have been the case when the map was made, but those days the forest was limited to the north of the town. So if he traveled south, common sense indicated he would arrive eventually.

Except that after a while he practically stumbled upon a river he didn’t remember at all. According to the map that river flew west, towards the coast, and Castiel had no idea how he’d given such a turnabout. But maybe if he followed it in the opposite direction, he would eventually find the stream that crossed his town.

It still took him the better part of the day to reach the edge of the forest, and by that time, he was tired and hungry and thinking he should have distributed his food better. The last rays of the weak autumn sun were vanishing in the horizon, and Castiel was thinking he would have to wrap himself in his cape and spend the night in the woods when he saw them: the lights of the town, right ahead of him.

They were still weak, but they were definitely there as people began to light up their lamps and their chimneys. The glimmers in their windows were like little stars had fallen on the ground, and Castiel’s chest was swollen with a strange emotion.

He had thought he’d never see that place again, and now he was back there. He was home.

He ran the distance that separated him from the little cottage at the end of the town, and he was so excited that he didn’t notice the windows weren’t shinning he was standing in the garden. He looked around. The steps that led to the door were covered in brown and yellow leaves, and the yard had been overtaken by weeds and dry plants.

He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He tried to look inside through the window, but it was too dark to see. After a while, he had to admit the obvious: there was nobody there.

He walked around, the feelings of elation and happiness slowly dying away. He found one of the windows slightly cracked, and when he pushed it, it gave in easily. He climbed through it, thinking it was quite fitting after all. He had left in complete secrecy, without a goodbye note, without explaining his family what he was doing. Now he returned like an intruder or a thief in the night.

The cottage seemed empty as he approached it, but that wasn’t surprising. At that hour of the morning, his brothers were probably out working, and Anna was probably on the market or…

Castiel stopped in the doorway, looking around. The dining room was pretty much the same as when he had left, but there was something wrong. Everything was covered by a thin layer of dust, and there were cobwebs in the corners and the windows’ pane. An empty bottle was abandoned on the kitchen counter, and the pans and cookware were disseminated and abandoned. As he walked inside, his steps left footprints on the floorboards. It was as if no one had cleaned or cooked in there for months.

He opened the door to his room to find the same exact emptiness and abandonment. His bed was made and the place was in immaculate order, as if they had ordered it after he left, waiting for him to come back. But other than that, it was just as cold as the rest of the house.

He supposed it was selfish of him to have expected they would be waiting for him. But he still couldn’t help the strange disappointment that invaded him.

He found the loose board in which he hid his books. They were still there, undisturbed, the exact same way he had left them. He wondered if it was because nobody had discovered, or maybe Anna had, but she had left them there. Maybe she hadn’t touched them in the hopes that if she left everything the way it was, he would return eventually. That definitely sounded like something Anna would do.

He grabbed the books and put them in the satchel. They didn’t seem to have any problem fitting in, which made Castiel suspect the satchel was also enchanted somehow. He wouldn’t put it past Meg to have given him that one last gift.

In any case, he would find out where his family was after he got some rest. It would be better if he somehow could prepare them for the shock and for them to believe where he had been. It was probably best to put on some of his old clothing as well, but when he looked for them, he couldn’t find them. They had either taken them or given them away.

After a while, Castiel realized he was too tired to keep on thinking and speculating about what his family would think and how to tell them his story. Maybe they wouldn’t even want to hear him. Maybe they would be angry at him for making them worried in vain. He sat on the bed with a sigh, the tears trapped in his throat becoming harder to fight now.

He had trouble falling asleep. The mattress was too thin, the covers were itchy, and the room was cold. Or maybe it was that he was so used to sleeping in his bedroom on the second floor, in his enormous, soft bed. He turned on the bed so he could face the window, wondering why the night was so dim. It took him a moment to realize that in the castle’s night there were no clouds blocking the starlight. He couldn’t see any of the constellations Meg had taught him about, but he finally drifted off trying to find them.

 

* * *

 

The town was calm and quiet when Castiel left the cottage in the morning. All the men must have been working in the mines already and the women were probably busy with the housework. Castiel walked past a couple of children playing with a puppy. Their screams and laughter stopped suddenly when they noticed him. He smiled at them, and the children scattered like leaves in the winds, the puppy following them, yapping. Castiel wondered what they had thought of him, with his strange old-fashioned clothes and his cape still covered with the journey’s dust.

Mr. Singer’s bookstore was open, and it caused him a strange delight to hear the bell above the door jingling. At least that hadn’t changed. At least all the books were still there, piled up in columns that looked at the brink of collapse. The smell of leather, paper and ink tingled in his nose. Meg would have probably loved that store…

He was shaking his head, trying to shoo away those thoughts when Mr. Singer’s grumpy voice came from behind the shelves:

“Hold on, will you? I’m an old man, have patience…”

He came out from behind, balancing six or seven books on his hand.

“Haven’t found a new helper yet,” he complained, putting the books over the counter. “I just have some…”

He turned around and saw Castiel. He jumped backwards, his mouth agape and his eyes practically popping out of its sockets.

“Good morning, Mr. Singer.”

“Goddammit!” Mr. Singer replied, with a hand over his chest. Castiel suddenly worried his sudden appearance had a negative impact on the old man, so he tried to get closer, but Mr. Singer stopped him: “No! Don’t come any closer, you… you…”

“Mr. Singer,” Castiel said, surprised by that reaction. “It’s me.”

Mr. Singer straightened up, but he still seemed rather agitated. He stretched his hand and gave Castiel’s shoulder a light touch. He pulled his hand away, as if it burned, and stared at Castiel unblinkingly.

“Kid?” he asked, unsure.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed again. “It is me.”

Mr. Singer put both hand on his shoulders with a little more confident now that he had confirmed Castiel wasn’t going to vanish.

“Kid!” he repeated, his mouth twisting in a confused yet happy smile. “You’re… you’re alive!”

“Yes, of course I am,” Castiel said, frowning. But he didn’t have much time to get confused at that strange assertion, because Mr. Singer pulled him in for a hug that knocked the air out of his lungs.

“We looked for you everywhere!” he shouted. “We just… we thought…”

He shook his head, mesmerized, and palmed Castiel’s cheek.

“You look… you look good!”

“What did you think?” Castiel asked, completely taken aback by Mr. Singer’s reaction. He didn’t expect the grumpy old man to be so happy to see him back.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mr. Singer replied. “You’re back. But where the hell were you? And where did you get those ridiculous clothes?”

“That… it’s a long story,” Castiel said. “Where’s my family? I went to the cottage, but there was no one there.”

“Well, of course not,” Mr. Singer said. “They’re probably all at the Winchesters’ tavern.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, but his disconcert only lasted a moment. He hadn’t thought about Anna and what decision she might have made about the marriage proposal in a long time. He suddenly felt guilty. Had Anna entered a loveless marriage just because he hadn’t been there to talk her out of it?

“Many things have changed,” Mr. Singer confirmed, as if he had read Castiel’s mind. “You should probably go see them yourself. They’re going to be over the moon to know you’re alive and well.”

Castiel swallowed, suddenly nervous. What if they were mad at him? What if they thought he had up and left them (like he did) and made them worried for nothing? What if…?

“Go see them, now,” Mr. Singer encouraged him.

“Yes,” Castiel said, but before walking through the door, he remembered the reason he had gone there. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, opening his satchel. “I think it’s way past time I gave you these back.”

Mr. Singer looked at the books like they were a completely foreign object, and then burst into laughter.

“You haven’t changed at all, Castiel.”

Castiel left the bookstore in the middle of a commotion. It was only when he was halfway to the tavern that he realized that it was the first time since he left Mg’s castle that someone called him by his name.

The tavern seemed quiet from the outside. He imagined that by the time the miners came out of work it would be full, and then it would be even harder to see his family and have a talk with them. He still hesitated outside the door for so long that it opened by itself and he had to jump out of the way to dodge it.

“And don’t forget Widow Harvelle said she needed her roof fixed!” Anna’s voice came floating from inside, catching Castiel so off guard he paralyzed.

“Yes, yes,” replied the man coming out of the tavern, but he had a little smirk in his lips despite the fact he was being nagged. It took a moment for Castiel to recognize him as Dean Winchester. “I won’t…”

He turned his head and his eyes met Castiel. His jaw fell wide open for a second, and before Castiel could say a word, he ran back inside shouting:

“Anna! You need to come out here, now!”

“What is it?” Anna huffed, the way she did when she was annoyed. “You can’t find your tools? They’re right there by the…”

Anna’s voice trailed off as she stepped outside. Her eyes grew wide, and her breath caught in her throat. For a heartbeat or two, she didn’t move or said a word, and neither did Castiel.

His sister looked different. She was wearing a nicer dress than he remembered her having. She had let her red hair grow longer and fall over her shoulder and her face seemed rounder and redder.

But of course, the thing that caught Castiel’s eye was the swollen belly barely made even more conspicuous by the tightness of her dress. Castiel suddenly understood what Mr. Singer meant when he said a lot of things had changed.

“Castiel!” Anna shouted. Unlike his boss, she had absolutely no doubts it was him. She jumped forwards and threw her arms around his neck, even though Castiel tried to keep a distance from her to not squash the baby. “You came back!”

“I’m…” Castiel started, but he was interrupted by another scream.

“Castiel! Cas!”

Gabriel and Carver both ran towards him and wrapped their arms around him at the same time. Castiel was stunned by such intense shows of affection, but he still managed to hold on to his father and his brother, and crack a smile when the last one started sobbing.

“You’re home! You’re alright!”

“I’m alright,” Castiel confirmed. “I’m fine.”

“We have to celebrate this!” Gabriel determined, finally stepping back. “I’m going ask John if we brek out that special whiskey. The occasion calls for it!”

He ran back inside, almost like a madman that didn’t know what to do with himself. Castiel could have sworn he saw him wiping his eyes really fast, but he decided he was not going to mention that out loud.

“Where have you been?” Anna asked, almost as the same time his father asked:

“How did you escape?”

“I didn’t escape,” Castiel replied. “She let me go.”

“What?” they asked in unison, but it was a very different question.

“We should go inside,” Castiel suggested.

He had never been to the Winchesters’ tavern, but he found out he liked the place. It smelled like wood and recently made food, and it was spacious and luminous. There weren’t many clients at that hour of the day, but he had the uncomfortable impression that the few who were there turned around to stare at him, some of them openly.

The Winchesters were kind enough to give them a table in a corner and stay ostensibly far away from them. Every once in a while they threw a curious glance in their direction, but they never came closer. They seemed to understand that was a matter that didn’t concern them.

It took him about two hours to relate everything that had happened since he had left the cottage that night last winter, and it took even more because Castiel had to interrupt himself now and then to answer their questions.

“So it was true?” Gabriel asked with his mouth slightly open. “All of it?”

“All of it.”

“The enchanted castle?” he asked, and Castiel nodded. “And the Beast? With the horns?” he added, putting his hand in his forehead to simulate them.

“They weren’t like that,” Castiel said, biting back his laughter. “But yes, she was real. And she did have horns.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gabriel muttered, and empty his glass in one gulp. “Pops, I think we all owe you an apology.”

Carver didn’t seem to mind that. He kept looking at Castiel like he couldn’t believe it, touching his arm or his shoulder now and then, like Mr. Singer had done. Castiel wondered how long it would take them to accept he wasn’t going to vanish.

“And you say she let you go?” Anna asked. “Why?”

Castiel opened his mouth to say it was because she had been hurt in the past and she feared it would happen again. She let him go because she wanted her to remember her fondly and she thought he would come to hate her if he stayed. She let him go because…

But that wasn’t his story to tell.

“I don’t know,” he lied. “Maybe she got sick of me.”

“But what did she do?” Carver wanted to know. “Did she hurt you? Did she…?”

“No, not at all,” Castiel shook his head. “She kept her promise to you, she treated me very well. She…”

He stopped talking. It was hard to think and speak of Meg in past tense, but he supposed it was the adequate thing to do. He wasn’t going to see her again.

He swallowed, trying to undo the lump in his throat and forced himself to smile again.

“I have presents for you,” he said, putting his satchel over the table and taking out the little jewelry box over the table. Carver practically jumped off his chair.

“Did you steal that?!” he asked, so loud that the Winchester turned their heads towards them.

“Of course not,” Castiel shook his head. “What kind of guest steals from their host?”

Carver looked down at his shoes, and Castiel realized he had hurt him with that comment. He had just spent months thinking his son’s death was a direct consequence for his actions, so it wasn’t Castiel’s finest moment to remind him of it.

“Father, I didn’t mean…”

“Oh, shit!” Gabriel interrupted. He had opened the box and the glimmer of the jewels and coins inside reflected in his golden eyes. “Holy… look at this!” he added lifting up a pendant with a small ruby incrusted in the middle. “This is… Cas, how in the…?”

Anna snatched the pendant from his hand, put it back inside the box and closed it with a thump.

“Castiel, take this away,” she said, pushing the box away. “Hide or just… get rid of it.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, confused.

“We… I’m sorry, with all the things you’ve told us, I don’t think we should keep anything that… that… Beast gave you,” Anna explained, eyeing the box with apprehension and a hand over her belly.

“Are you joking?” Gabriel asked. “Anna, there’s a fortune in there! We can buy our old home again, Pops could start a new business back…”

“I don’t want it,” Carver shook his head. “Not if we have to buy it with money from _her_. There’s a catch for sure.”

“But, father…” Castiel tried to argue.

“And besides, we don’t need it,” Anna continued, nodding in approval at their father. “We’re just fine.”

Castiel blinked at her for a moment, unable to find words to justify or to ask how they could reject such a generous gift. He turned to Gabriel, who was looking at the box with certain sadness.

“It’s true,” he admitted in the end, with a sigh. “Things have got a lot better than you remember, little brother.”

It turned out that since Anna had got married, the Winchesters had also accepted Gabriel and Carver as part of the family. They technically didn’t leave there, but when Castiel asked when was the last time they had been at the cottage, they sincerely couldn’t remember. Carver helped around in the rooms for guests and travelers while Gabriel helped Sam and Mary in the tavern.

“It’s actually really fun,” he said. “While I worked at the mines, I couldn’t even speak with half of the men there. Now they come here and they’re all like ‘ _Hey, Tricks_ ’ – that’s what they call me – ‘ _want to hear a joke?_ ’ And you know I always want to hear a joke,” he concluded, with a proud smile.

“They have to help because Dean and John are busy building the extension,” Anna explained. “When they found out I was expecting, Dean insisted we should have our own place.”

She looked down at her belly again, with a little smile in her lips and her eyes shining bright.

“I… I see,” Castiel said. He didn’t know how to handle that. He had half-expected Anna to be miserable and unhappy with her marriage, but she looked peaceful. She looked happy. “And Michael? Does he work here too now?”

Carver looked down again, apparently trying to fight back the tears, while Anna and Gabriel exchanged a look, almost as if they were deciding what to tell him.

“What?” Castiel asked, looking at all of them in confusion. “What is it?”

“Well, we haven’t seen Michael in months either,” Gabriel said. “He left to look for you.”

“He… really?” Castiel asked, baffled. That didn’t sound like something Michael would do.

“He was convinced it was his fault you were missing,” Anna said. “So he said he was going to find a way to bring you back. He was talking with that witch of Ruby and she told her all that nonsense about magic and…”

“But it turns out it’s not nonsense,” Gabriel pointed out. “We owe him an apology too, if he comes back. _When_ he comes back,” he corrected himself quickly after Carver looked at him like he was about to sob. “He’ll come back for sure, when he’s hungry.”

“He has written us letters now and then,” Anna added. “He never tells us exactly what he’s doing or who he’s talking to, but he sounds deadest in finding a way to bring you back.”

“Well, I am back,” Castiel said. “Can’t we write him and tell him that?”

“The letters never come from the same place,” Anna replied. But she must have seen something in Castiel’s face, because she added: “But we might as well try.”

“So there’s that,” Gabriel concluded. “And then there’s the little issue of what we’re going to tell everybody.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your disappearance was a mystery, little brother,” Gabriel explained. “When people find out you came back, they’re going to want to know how the hell that happened.”

Castiel looked over his shoulders. The three or four clients that had been eyeing at him when he came in had all moved into a single table and they had their heads together, muttering something. One of them pointed in Castiel’s direction, or so he thought, because Mary Winchester went to stand in front of them with a hand on her hip. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it looked like she was scolding them.

“Well, we can’t tell them the truth,” Castiel determined.

“Why not?” Carver asked, completely baffled. “They need to know that thing is out there…”

“They will panic, father,” Castiel replied. “Or maybe they’ll ambition the treasures in the castle. But if they try storming it, they won’t stand a chance against Meg.”

“Meg?” Anna repeated, frowning.

“The… the Beast,” Castiel clarified. “That’s her name. Or… that’s what I called her.”

He went quiet, looking down at the jewelry box. Had he taken the note with her handwriting in it? He couldn’t remember. Maybe it was somewhere in his satchel. Did it matter? There were so many things he still didn’t know about Meg. Hell, he didn’t even know her real name. How could he not have thought of that?

“Don’t worry, little brother,” Gabriel said, interrupting his thoughts. “Just leave it to me. Anna, walk him upstairs like he’s hurt and get him out of that ridiculous outfit. And whatever I say, you go along with it.”

“I’m not sure I like that plan,” Carver commented.

Castiel wasn’t certain either, but the men in the other table were trying to look around Mary to catch a glimpse of him, and at one point, one of them got up and ran out of the tavern. There was no doubt that in a few moments the tavern would be overrun by curious patrons, and it was best idea they had.

So Anna led Castiel upstairs and a moment later, Dean ran up to join them.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, alternating looks between his wife and Castiel.

“Yes,” Anna said. “It’s fine. Castiel just needs to get some rest.”

Dean seemed hesitant, but in the end he nodded.

“Very well. You know anything you need, you can ask me.”

“Some food would be nice,” Anna said. “And a little privacy. I know everybody’s going to want to talk to him, but…”

“Understood.”

Dean put a hand on Anna’s cheek and looked at her in the eye. Anna gave him a little peck on the palm and nodded. Castiel was taken aback. It had been a very casual gesture, innocent, but there was something so intimate about it that he felt like he was spying on a private conversation. He quickly looked away until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dean was showing him with a reassuring smile.

“I’m glad to have you back, man.”

“T-Thank you,” Castiel stuttered.

Anna opened the door to the room and guided Castiel inside.

“It’s alright,” she said. “Dean will make sure nobody bothers you.”

“I… I really appreciate that,” Castiel replied.

Before he could add anything else, Anna threw her arms around his neck and brought him close for a tight hug that lasted a lot longer than the one she had given her downstairs.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” she said. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Her voice sounded slightly broken, something Castiel found hard to assimilate: Anna never cried. She was always the strong one, always the one to stay in control when things didn’t go the way they expected them to.

“Anna…”

“I’m sorry,” Anna said, stepping back and quickly drying her eyes with the sleeves of her dress. “I’m just… I’m so happy.”

Castiel swallowed, realizing he was at the edge of tears too. Anna was the person he’d missed the most, and he wondered what she would think of Meg if she really, truly got to know her. Would they become friends or…?

But it was foolish to even think about it.

Anna sat on the bed and Castiel on the chair in front of them. They held hands in silence for a very long time, until Anna took a deep breath to quiet down her sobbing.

“But, really, Castiel,” she said. “How are you? Are you alright? She didn’t do anything to you? You can tell me if she hurt you.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Castiel shook his head. “She was… she was more than she seemed.”

Anna sighed again, apparently relieved.

“I just… I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “You come back saying magic is real, and the Beast… I mean, we’ve thought for months that father just believed his own hallucinations. And we thought… we thought you had died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t… I understand why you did it,” Anna said. “And it’s not that I don’t believe you. But it’s a lot to take in.”

“Well, it’s a lot to take in for me too,” Castiel said, lowering his eyes at Anna’s belly. She laughed and gently placed her fingers over it.

“Mary says it seems like it’ll be a girl,” she explained. “We want to call her Emma.”

Again she had that glimmer in her eyes. She looked so different, so at peace, and suddenly Castiel had a revelation.

“You’re happy.”

Anna looked back up with a smirk.

“Well, yes,” she said, squeezing his hand again. “Now that you’re here, I have everything I wanted.”

“But you’re happy you’re having a baby,” Castiel said. “You’re happy you married Dean.”

“Why does that surprise you?” Anna chuckled.

Castiel opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He had been so convinced that Dean wouldn’t make a good match for his sister, so certain that Anna would suffer for it. When she had first brought up Dean’s proposal, she had almost seemed harrowed about it.

“Do you… are you in love with him?” Castiel asked.

Anna tilted her head pensively, like she was looking for the right answer to that.

“I am now,” she said. “I choose to be. That’s how people stay married, Castiel. They choose each other every day. And Dean, he… well, he’s so much more than I expected.”

She didn’t seem to notice that she had practically said the same thing about her husband than Castiel had said about Meg. But he did, and he tried to hide his commotion with another smile.

“Maybe we should find out what Gabriel is saying about me,” he suggested.

“I’ll go do that,” Anna promised. “And also, to get you some food. Wait here.”

She stood up clumsily and left him alone.

Castiel hid his face in his hands.

In his books, the adventurers always came back home to a warm welcome, to their families still saving a seat for them at the dinner table, never losing hope that they would come back. And the adventurers were always happy to be where they belonged, and usually they just stayed home, their wanderlust satisfied, until they were old and grey and told those stories to their grandchildren.

But his family had moved on, except maybe for Michael. Castiel believed he’d left more to quench his guilt than because he was really worried about him, but perhaps there would be another surprise there.

And also, he didn’t feel at home.

He paced around the room for a while, trying to calm down the strange agitation in his chest.

He’d always thought love had to be something that happened unexpectedly, something sudden and grand and inevitable. He never considered the kind of small love that Dean and Anna had, one that was obviously still being built, day by day and step by step. It sounded like a strange brand of magic of its own.

What would Meg think of that? Would she still believe love could fade away one day if he explained to her what he had seen?

He opened the window, and looked towards the North. The trees looked like a golden and brown mantle from that distance, and hidden underneath it, there was Meg.

It seemed like all he had done since he’d left the castle was think about her. He supposed it was inevitable. He had grown used to her presence, to her voice. Even standing there, so far away, he still was expecting her to hear her ask: “What are you thinking about, bluebird?”

“I’m thinking I might not have done everything that was in my hand to stay with you,” he told the empty room. “And I’m thinking maybe I’ll never stop missing you.”

There was a knock on the door. Castiel closed the widow’s pane and turned his back to the woods.


	12. Chapter 12

The room was getting too cold for Michael’s liking. Winter hadn’t quite arrived yet, but the freezing breeze running through the open window and the sky covered with clouds were a clear presage. Michael shivered in his cape and looked at Oskar.

“Can’t we just close it for a little bit?” he muttered.

Oskar shushed him, not even looking at him. Michael gritted his chattering teeth and returned his attention to Rowena.

The witch was kneeling in front of a short table, with five candles turned on and placed on each of the points of the star carved on the wood. In the middle of it, there was a crystal ball with smoke inside that swirled and dance following the movement of Rowena’s hands over it. Rowena wasn’t even looking at it. She had her head thrown back, words in a language unknown to Michael falling in a constant string of whispers from her barely moving lips. Michael was too far and the room was too dark to see them, but he knew that when Rowena entered in a trance like that, her eyes went white an empty. It was a disturbing effect, just like the scent of ozone in the room, like there was storm gathering in there as the ritual advanced and Rowena’s voice grew louder and louder until she was screaming out in frustration.

“Ma’am, you’ve done your best,” Oskar would try to console her once Rowena came back from the trance. “Don’t strain yourself. You always say you’re an artist, and art takes time.”

“Thank you, Oskar,” Rowena would reply, patting the innkeeper in the hand or the shoulder. “You always know what to say.”

But as the time went on with no results, it became harder and harder to calm the witch down with kind words. One time, she had stood up so fast she’d almost flipped the table.

“Nothing!” she exclaimed in those occasions. “I can’t see her!”

“Ma’am, please,” Oskar said, but he made sure to keep his distance while Rowena paced around the room, her fists clenched in fury. “You need to stop, or you won’t…”

The flame from the candles rose up until it was almost licking the ceiling, and Oskar went quiet for the sake of his inn.

“She’s got good,” Rowena whispered to herself. “Yes, really good. But I am still better. I will find her sooner or later.”

Then, as every night, she told Michael to leave and come back the following evening as the sun was setting.

It had been over a week with the same routine. Michael’s patience was wearing thin, but he didn’t dare express those feelings for two reasons: one, he got the feeling Rowena was not a person who accepted demands or doubts about her ability kindly. And second, because for all her failures, she seemed as decided as Michael was to find the Beast. And quite clearly, she was the most powerful ally he could count on for that endeavor.

The room was getting colder by the second, and Michael was shuddering beneath his cape. Even Oskar, whose only concerned seemed to be Rowena’s wellbeing, looked away from her to breathe on his hands for warmth.

Rowena, however, seemed unaffected. She kept muttering her spell without missing a beat, her hands moving faster over the crystal ball, her whispers so fast they sounded like a buzzing now. Michael prepared himself, because this was almost always the part where she stopped and declared that she couldn’t find anything.

The witch let out a whizzing gasp, her hands becoming rigid and immobile like claws over her ball. A ghust of wind came in through the window, blowing off all the candles at once. The room went dark, and for a heartbeat or two, Rowena was completely still.

Then, slowly, but surely, a happy beam appeared on her lips.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked Oskar, because that was new.

“She’s seen something,” Oskar explained, walking towards her.

“Did she?” Michael asked again, as Oskar helped Rowena stand up again. “Did you see her?”

“No,” Rowena said. “But I saw _him_. Your brother. He’s come back home.”

“What?” Michael frowned, confused. “No, that’s impossible…”

“Is it?” Rowena interrupted him. “Dark hair? Blue eyes? Quite handsome, to be honest. He was in a place with shelves full of books.”

That did sound a lot like Castiel.

“But how can he be?” he asked. “You said she would keep him prisoner or torture him or kill him for her own amusement…”

“How can I know what goes on through that perverted monster’s mind?” Rowena shrugged. “But this is a good thing, don’t you see?” She took a step towards Michael with a manic glimmer in her eyes. “Your brother knows where she is hiding. He can guide us to her.”

Michael wasn’t entirely certain he shared Rowena’s enthusiasm at the idea.

“And what if he doesn’t know anything?” he asked. “What if she erased his memory or…?”

“Nothing I can’t undo,” Rowena answered. “And in any case, it doesn’t matter. As long as he brought anything with him from her lair, it will be impregnated with her magic. A simple tracking spell, and we’ll be at her door before she knows it.”

She turned around and walked towards the adorned chest she kept right next to chimney.

“I’ve been saving this for a very long time,” she commented, as she opened it. “Been waiting centuries to find someone who can use it. And now the moment has come to avenge my Fergus.”

She took a crossbow out and showed it to Michael. It looked pretty common, like the ones he had used when he went on hunting parties with his friends, when he still had the time for such activities. But the particular thing about it was the single arrow mounted on it: it was completely golden, from the head to the nock. In the darkness of the room, it almost seemed to shine with its own disturbing light.

“What is that?” Michael asked, after swallowing.

“An enchanted arrow that can kill the Beast,” Rowena explained. “I created it especially for her. The only problem is, since I casted the spell on it, I can throw it myself. It has to be thrown by someone she was wronged by… say, taking their brother away.”

“You want me to kill the Beast?”

“Of course,” Rowena batted her long eyelashes twice. “Why, isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted my brother safe,” Michael said. “And now you’re telling me that he is, so I believe our business together is over. I’m not going to do your dirty job.”

Rowena scoff, her glee turning into an offended scowl.

“But… don’t you want her to pay for what she’s done to your family?” she asked. “The months of you anguishing over this, your sister’s grief…?”

“Yes, of course she should pay for that, but it’s not worth risking my life over.”

“What if she takes someone else?” Rowena argued.

“Well, that’d be their problem,” Michael shrugged. “I promise I’ll direct them towards you.”

He started walking towards the door, but Oskar stood in front of it. He crossed his arm over his chest and threw a threatening glare at Michael.

“How dare you talk to her like that?”

“It’s alright, Oskar, dear,” Rowena said. “Let him go. He’s in his right.”

Oskar seemed shocked, and even Michael had to look at Rowena. He would have expected her to get nasty somehow, so that magnanimity was completely suspicious.

“Of course, if your main concern is your brother,” she added, “you should consider all the possibilities.”

“What do you mean?” Michael asked, tilting his head.

“Well, you don’t really know what that Beast did to him in all the time he spent with her,” Rowena suggested. “She could have put a number of spells on him that might have some nasty secondary effects for his entire life, for instance. She could have enchanted him to be her spy on the outside world while she plans something nefarious. And that not taking into account that might not even be your brother: he could be some sort of illusion or a puppet of hers made of clay, sent to your family only to make them suffer some more.”

“Could she do that?”

“She’s certainly powerful and cruel enough to do it,” Rowena nodded. “And I was going to offer you to come along, just to make sure everything is as you hope it is. But if you’re in such a hurry…”

Michael took pride on being nobody’s fool, and of course he realized Rowena was shamelessly manipulating him. On the other hand, what she was saying wasn’t completely devoid of sense. It didn’t take long for him to decide.

“Alright,” he said. “You can come, but if my brother turns out to be alright, that’ll be the last of it.”

“Yes,” Rowena agreed. “But I’m still taking this,” she said, lifting the crossbow a little bit. “Just in case.”

 

* * *

 

Fate and magic might have had their own paths, but life had a strange way of finding its own pace.

Castiel decided he didn’t want to stay at the tavern with the rest of his family, even though they insisted and the Winchesters assured him he was more than welcomed to do so. He just didn’t feel he would fit in there with them.

After a certain hour, it was common for all the miners and the townsfolk to gather there. Gabriel seemed perfectly capable of maintaining the high spirits night after night. His brother, who never before had shown any aptitudes for music or acting that Castiel knew of, now was the first to start singing or standing on a table performing illusions with coins or imitating someone known around town for the patrons to guess.

“Pastor Jim!” they screamed between guffaws. “Old Man Singer! That’s Widow Harvelle! That’s your boss, you idiot! You can John to catch you doing that?”

Castiel didn’t think John would have been bothered, even if he had caught him. Gabriel earned thunderous applause night after night, and the patrons kept drinking until late. He was good for their business, and the Winchesters would have been insane to kick him out.

For a while after he returned, Castiel tried to join in the general joyfulness. Gabriel tried once or twice to make him join his act, but Castiel couldn’t sing to save his life, and he didn’t lie convincingly enough for public to believe him when he told the story of where he had been all those months. So within a few days, Gabriel decided it was best if Castiel just sat on a corner looking broodily into his glass while he did the talking. Castiel was perfectly fine with that arrangement.

“And then, my poor, poor brother was chased into the woods by a pack of hungry wolves,” Gabriel said, imitating the growling and howling of the supposed animals. “And he ran, and ran, trying to come back to the security of the town, but he got lost in the dark and he hit his head against a low branch…”

Every night the story changed a little bit. Sometimes he left the house because he needed to clear his head, sometimes he was going to look some medicine for his hurt father. Sometimes he was chased by a pack of wolves, sometimes it was a single, solitary wolf of impossible proportions. Sometimes he hit his head against a low branch, tripped on a rock or plain pass out from exhaustion after all the running. The degrees of his injuries varied from some cuts and bruises to a broken leg or a bite in the arm, but in all the versions, he hit his head badly and was found the following day by a kind stranger: a humble miller, a rich merchant with no sons, a sailor on his way to the shore. Castiel woke up with no memory of who he was or where was his home, so he had to spend months in the company of his rescuer, slowly healing until he remembered and could come back to his family.

All the versions were full of inconsistences that were always explained away by Castiel not remembering the details (“He hit his head really hard, you know? It’s a shame: he was so brilliant, now sometimes he can’t remember how to grab a spoon”) and by the Winchesters, despite being expert trackers, completely missing the clues that would have led them to him earlier. The townsfolk seemed to believe it, and sometimes Castiel caught them looking at him with a mixture of compassion and interest.

Castiel begged Gabriel to tone the stories down a little bit after an epic narration of how he had fought the wolves with a stick he’d managed to set on fire by rubbing two stones together, but Gabriel refused.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “They love them! And besides, they’re a great hit with the ladies.”

Castiel, who was helping clean up the tavern, put down the glass he was rubbing with a sigh.

“Gabriel, if you wish to curt someone, I’m not sure this is the best way to…”

“No, I mean for you,” Gabriel interrupted him. He grabbed Castiel by the cheeks and made him turn his head towards the kitchen. Jo Harvelle was standing near the table, chatting happily with Anna as they negotiated for the bread and cakes her mother had cooked. “Every single girl in town thinks you’re quite a catch now. Mysterious adventure, sequels from your trauma? That makes girls want to take care of you, brother.”

Jo looked up from her merchandise, noticed them staring and gave a little wave. Gabriel waved back, but Castiel hastily avoided her glance.

“You could pick any of them to be your wife,” Gabriel kept telling him. “If you don’t like Jo, there’s Rachel, Hester…”

“No,” Castiel cut him off. “I don’t… I don’t want to choose anybody.”

Gabriel went quiet, and strangely, the mischievous smirk disappeared from his face.

“Look, we just want you to be happy, alright?” he said. “We want you to forget about what you’ve been through. Have a normal life. Can’t you really blame us for it?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I don’t blame you for it, and I appreciate all of your concerns. But I don’t think about that right now.”

“Okay,” Gabriel shrugged. “But do start to think about it. We can’t be three bachelor brothers in the family. People will talk.”

“And say what?” Castiel frowned, confused.

Sam came in through the back door.

“Gabe, can you help me roll this barrel inside?”

“You got it, big boy.”

It took an embarrassingly long amount of time for Castiel to realize that Sam could have rolled that barrel on his own.

That was about the time he decided it was best if he just went back to the cottage and tried to figure out what to do with himself. It didn’t take long to convince Mr. Singer to give him his old job back (“Kid, do you have any idea how hard is to get a good helper around these parts?”), and with that settled, Castiel returned to his old life.

With some changed, of course.

Gabriel and Carver had never officially abandoned it, and were welcome to stay with him if they wanted, but they liked the tavern a lot better. In all the nights he spent there, Castiel had the place all on his own. He actually preferred it that way. The chattering and constant noise at the tavern sometimes overwhelmed him. He guessed it was a consequence to spending so much time living in a place where he could be alone and silent for as long as he wanted.

He didn’t go out much, except to go to work and back at home at the end of the day, but it seemed like some kids had his route figured out. There wasn’t a day where one didn’t run up to him, asking:

“Sir, sir, how big was the wolf that bit you? Can we see the scar? Do you remember your own name, sir?”

Usually, Castiel was so unprepared for it that he just stared at them. The kids seem to interpret that as anger or that they would get in trouble somehow, because they always ran away before Castiel could tell them not to believe everything they heard. It seemed like a game to them, who could get Castiel to freeze for the longer before he opened his mouth and they all ran away like a flock of doves.

They weren’t the only ones interested in seeing him. Before Castiel’s disappearance, the days at the bookstore were usually very slow, but now the place seemed to be bubbling with new clients coming in at all hours. Castiel noticed the difference mainly in the lowered number of pages he managed to read from the book he kept sneakily under the counter and the shortened amount of time he could spend in the back pretending to do inventory.

Curiously (or maybe not, given what Gabriel had mentioned), most of the new clients were the single girls of the town. They came in pairs or groups of three, pretended to look at the books while they glanced at Castiel and giggled and whispered secretively. Castiel usually sigh, stopped pretending he hadn’t noticed them, and confronted them head on:

“Anything I can help you with, ladies?”

They usually hesitated, or looked shocked, or try to get a book Castiel had never heard of and could say with confidence that didn’t exist. That led him to conclude that they weren’t really interested in buying books. He supposed it made sense, since most of the men had already had the chance to ogle at him at the tavern. He hoped that at some point the novelty would die, but in the meantime, he made sure to walk as fast as he could and avoid making eye contact with anybody. Once home, he would make himself a decent, yet simple dinner and watch the rain drizzle beyond his window.

In occasions like that, he did feel lonely, but he didn’t crave the rowdy company of the tavern or the compassionate looks of his family. He missed sitting with Meg in the library, each of them engulfed in their own book. They didn’t saying a word for hours and sometimes they didn’t even share a glance, but it felt easy, natural. Somehow he doubted the girls of the town that kept coming into the bookstore would be interested in that strange way of sharing, that way of being alone, but also together at the same time.

He thought about her more often than he would admit to anyone, even to himself. Since his sister had rejected them, he’d hidden the jewels underneath the loose floorboard, and sometimes he took them out to look at them. He wondered if they could lead him back to the castle the way the rose had done originally. But of course, that was just a foolish dream. If Meg didn’t want him to come back, he could wander the woods for days without finding a trace of the castle.

So he kept living his simple, quiet life, hoping the curiosity of the townsfolk would wear itself out. He kept reading his stories, but also whatever historian or philosopher he could get his hands on. He kept waiting that the feeling of being somewhere he didn’t belong would fade eventually.

“Castiel,” Mr. Singer told him one day. “Could you leave these at the tavern on your way home?”

He put three books on the counter in front of Castiel.

“Sure thing, Mr. Singer,” Castiel said, picking them up. “Who are they for?”

“Some rich lady whose carriage broke down on the outskirts of town,” Mr. Singer said. “She’s going to be here a couple of days, apparently, and she wants something to pass the time.”

Castiel assumed the message for those books had arrived while he was in the back with the inventory, so he didn’t know who had made it. It certainly wasn’t someone that had earned Mr. Singer’s good opinion, if his scowl and his scoff of disapproval was something to judge by.

“Some snooty young lad came in to ask for them,” Mr. Singer explained. “Said he didn’t have time to wait for to get them and told me to send my helper. Well, what if I didn’t have a helper? Then I would be the one who’d have to drag my old bones all the way there so his mistress could have something to read. But did he care?”

“It doesn’t sound like he did.”

“Of course he didn’t!” Mr. Singer replied. “Rich people, Castiel, are always arrogant, but their servants are even worse.”

Castiel let Mr. Singer rant for a while longer (he knew him well enough to know he would continue to do so even after his audience had left) before saying good night to him and heading to the tavern. The few patrons who were there threw them some interested looks, but Castiel managed to ignore him as he walked towards the bar. Tonight, Sam was behind it, and the youngest Winchester greeted him with a big smile.

“Hello, Castiel.”

“Well, the long lost Milton reappears!” Gabriel said, appearing from behind the counter. “How are you little brother? If I can still call you that.”

Castiel grimaced. It was true it had been longer than a week since the last time he’d visited his siblings and his father.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been busy.”

Gabriel threw him a skeptical look, so Castiel put the books over the counter.

“Mr. Singer told me to bring these,” he said. “They’re for a Lady MacLeod who…”

“Oh, yes, that woman,” Sam groaned, while Gabriel pretended to hang himself from the lamp.

Castiel was shocked at that hostility. His brother could take his jokes a little far, but Sam was usually very kind to everybody.

“I know we’re not supposed to say bad things about our guests,” he added. “But she’s so…”

“She’s an old hag and she’s driving us all mad,” Gabriel intervened. “Mary even told Anna to take the day off because dealing with people like her can’t be good for the baby.”

“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time,” Castiel said, suddenly worried to leave the books with someone like her.

“I’ll take these to her room now,” Sam said with a sigh.

“Any other night, I’ll ask you to stay,” Gabriel added as Sam left for the rooms. “But if she and that manservant of hers are going to be here, you better save yourself.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Castiel said. “Tell Anna and Father I’ll come to see them soon.”

“Yeah, you better, kid,” Gabriel said, squinting his eyes in a perfect imitation of Mr. Singer’s scowl until Castiel giggled. “But seriously, though. Don’t make yourself a stranger.”

Castiel had just put his hand on the doorknob when he felt the sting of a pair of eyes in the back of his head. He was used to it by now, but this one felt different. Stronger. Aggressive. Like the person looking at him was seizing him, measuring in some way.

He shivered and turned around.

The woman standing atop of the stairs seemed to be all red and purple. Anna had red hair too, but the curls of this stranger were a shade darker, almost scarlet in their town. She was wearing a dress that fell all the way to the floor and the cape around her shoulders gave her an air of dignity, of royalty. And she didn’t look away when Castiel caught her staring. On the contrary, she tilted her head with her lips slightly parted and her eyes narrowed, like Castiel was a word hard to read on a page or a complicated puzzle she couldn’t figure out.

Castiel swallowed loudly and ran out of the door, with his heart beating in his throat.

Was that Lady MacLeod? Why had her staring made him so nervous? In any case, why was she interested in him at all? Had she heard the stories about him? He thought it unlikely. If she was as grating as everyone was saying, then who would have told it to her? And why had just her looking at him made him so uneasy?

He was out of breath. He stopped, leaning on a wall, trying to put himself together again. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter who she was or why she had been looking at him. In a few days more, she’d be gone and he wouldn’t have to think about her at all.

By the time he reached the cottage, his impression of Lady MacLeod was immediately shoved to the back of his mind.

There was smoke coming out of the chimney and a light shining on the window. Castiel stopped at the door, completely stunned. Could it be a thief? He doubted they would take the time to light up a fire, but he couldn’t discard some not very smart thieves. Besides, there was nothing in his home worth stealing, except for Meg’s jewels. But no one could have known about those, unless… had Gabriel or Anna talked about them with someone? His Father? He didn’t believe it, but…

He grabbed a stick from the garden (a very small one, so he wasn’t sure how much it was worth as a weapon) and climbed the porch’s steps. He held the stick up high… but he jumped backwards when the door burst open. He stumbled on the steps and fell on his butt as the man in front of him stood on the doorway, his face obscured by the light behind him.

Castiel raised the now broken stick, but he didn’t care.

“What are you…?” he started, but then he recognized him. “Michael?”

Michael smiled and extended his hand towards Castiel to help him stand up.

“What are you doing with that?” he asked between chuckles.

“I… I figured…” Castiel stuttered for a second before he realized something was wrong. Michael didn’t seem surprise or angry at him. It was like he completely expected Castiel to show up at any second. “You… you’re here. Did you receive Anna’s letter?”

There was a split-second hesitation before Michael answered:

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I came back as soon as I read it. I couldn’t believe it. I’m so glad you’re alright, Cas.”

He put his hands around Castiel’s shoulder and pulled him closer for a hug. Castiel returned the gesture, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was off about Michael. For instance, he knew him well enough to know that he was lying about the letter.

But when Michael let go off him with a smile and patted Castiel on the cheek, he figured he must still have been shaken by his encounter with Lady MacLeod. After all, his brother seemed genuinely happy to see him. And why wouldn’t he? After everything that had happened…

“Let’s go in,” Michael said. “Everything alright, brother?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you just surprised me.”

Michael nodded, like that was completely understandable.

“Come on. You have to tell me everything.”


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel repeated his story, but this time it was much shorter because Michael didn’t interrupt him constantly to ask him for details or to express his disbelief. He just quietly sat in front of Castiel, taking spoonful after spoonful of the soup he had prepared into his mouth, staring at Castiel with the most absolute calm. He even nodded once or twice, encouraging Castiel to keep talking when he paused.

By the end of their frugal dinner, Michael pushed the plate away with a sigh.

“Well,” he muttered. “No wonder I couldn’t find you. If she’s as powerful as you said…”

“Oh, she is,” Castiel nodded. “And she values her privacy.”

He couldn’t help but to smile, because that was a bit of an understatement. Michael kept observing him, following every one of his movements like he was trying to figure something out. Castiel didn’t know why his brother’s eyes on him unnerved him a little. He figured he must have still been nervous after his encounter with Lady MacLeod, if it could even be called that, so he ignored it.

“I’ll clean this,” he decided, grabbing the dishes.

“I’ll help,” Michael stood up. He stretched his hands to take the dishes from Castiel, but he distractedly knocked down the jar they had been drinking from. The water spilled all over the table and Castiel’s lap, who jumped at the sudden coldness. “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Cas…”

“It’s fine,” Castiel said. “It’s… don’t worry about it.”

He went to the kitchen and grabbed a cloth. He started rubbing it just so he wouldn’t be so uncomfortable until he went to his room to change and…

Castiel stopped and looked up. Michael was standing right at his side, watching every one of his movements.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked. “Michael, it’s just water. If I put them to dry next the chimney…”

“Yes,” Michael interrupted him and shook his head. “No. I know.”

So Michael was definitely acting strange. It shouldn’t really have surprised Castiel: they had never been the closest, and maybe Michael still had some residual guilt. So Castiel put his hand on Michael’s forearm.

“Anna told me how you were the one that insisted in organizing the search parties even when it was foolish to keep hoping,” he said. “And then you travelled so far away… I really appreciate that, brother. You didn’t have to.”

“No, I _did_ have to,” Michael said, shaking his head. “If it wasn’t for me…”

“Even if you had tried to stop me that night, I don’t think you could have,” Castiel interrupting him. “Fate and magic have their own paths, and we can never predict what they will be.”

He smiled again, partly to reassure Michael, partly because it always made him smile when he remembered Meg’s lessons. It was a strange, bittersweet feeling. Sometimes more bitter than others, but he had promised himself he would only remember the good things about Meg. It was what she would have wanted.

Michael still eyed him like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed or what to tell.

“You’ve changed, Castiel,” he commented.

“I’m… the same as I was before,” Castiel said, although he knew in his heart that wasn’t entirely true.

“You’re taller,” Michael insisted. “Or at least, you carry yourself differently. Proudly.”

Castiel didn’t know what to answer that, so he changed the topic.

“There’s one thing you need to see.”

When he took the jewels from beneath the floorboard, he hesitated. But in the end, he knew they would always be a temptation and that it was best to get them away from him. Meg had given them to him for his family, and even if they had rejected them, he knew Michael wouldn’t.

“Open it,” he said, putting the box in front of him.

Michael eyes with the same suspicion, but he obeyed. The jewels and coins shone bright under the fireplace’s light, and Michael’s jaw fell open.

“Castiel, what the…? Where did you…?” Michael looked at his brother, and then back at the jewels. “Did you…?”

“She gave them to me,” Castiel explained. “They’re a present. I’d like you to have them.”

“Are you insane?” Michael asked. “This is a fortune!”

“A fortune I don’t need,” Castiel said. “I am happy the way I am. So are Gabriel, Anna and Father. But I know you’ve been very unsatisfied with the life we’ve had to lead these last couple of years. That’s what I want you to have this.”

“And what on earth am I supposed to do with it?” Michael asked. He still hadn’t touched the jewels, but Castiel could see his eyes glimmering with craving.

“You could restart Father’s business, you could travel if you’ve acquired the taste,” Castiel shrugged. “You can do whatever makes you happy. This is a possibility I’m giving to you. You can do what you wish with it.”

Michael was still clearly dumfounded, but he closed the jewelry box and dragged it closer to his chest.

“I-I… I don’t know what to say,” he stammered. “I’m… I’m…”

“You’re welcome, brother.”

Michael’s face went red, but he laughed it off.

“Yes, thank you,” he mumbled. “Thank you so much for this.”

Castiel nodded, and looked at the fireplace with a sigh. He had made the right decision. It was what he needed to believe.

“But are you sure you don’t want at least half of it?” Michael asked. “I mean… there’re lots of books in here…”

“I’m fine,” Castiel chuckled.

“Are you?” Michael insisted. He was squinting his eyes at Castiel, the way their mother used to do when she was trying to catch them in a lie or to figure out if they were doing some sort of mischief.

“I will be,” Castiel said. "I'll try to be."

And he at least hoped that was a little bit closer to the truth.

 

* * *

 

Michael’s return was received with a little less astonishment because, after all, they more or less knew where he had been. But Anna still screamed like Michael too had returned from the death and their father still cried tears of joy while he hugged him.

“It’s over,” Carver muttered. “We’re a family again.”

Gabriel broke out the good liquor and declare it a party at the tavern, so in no time, the place was filled with people, all singing and drinking to the Milton’s  and the Winchester’s health. Castiel thought that if that was book or a story, that moment right there would be the end of it, with all them reunited and happy once more. Michael would bring back their fortune, and they would have a little niece or nephew soon to spoil. It was a happy ending, an ending that would have them all in bliss.

But of course, life and stories were very different.

Last time, Castiel had managed to squirrel away at a relatively early hour, but this time around Gabriel was seemingly decided to get him to stay.

“Brother, brother, come on,” he said, when he caught inching towards the door. “The night’s young, and it’s cold outside! Stay in here! Enjoy the company!”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Castiel tried to say, but Gabriel practically forced a jug in his hand and dragged him to the table.

“Stay!” he said. “Don’t you wanna tell everyone the story of how you escaped that Beast… I mean, those wolves… and hit yourself in the head and…?”

“What?” Michael asked, looking at them, completely confused. “What wolves?”

“It’s the story we told everybody,” Anna explained, in a lower tone. “Although Gabriel has told it so many times he can’t keep it straight.”

“Well, it’s more interesting that way,” Gabriel replied. “You never know what new twist is going to take…”

“If you’re not going to let me leave, can I at least get some rest?” Castiel said, rubbing his eyes. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“Not in the state Old Man Singer is,” Gabriel said, pointing at the other table.

Despite the many jugs in front of them, Mary Winchester, John Winchester and Rufus Turner were still singing about a great hunter that had gone out and got lost in a winter night, but Mr. Singer had just hid his face between his arms and he seemed to be snoring loudly.

“All the more reason,” Castiel insisted, slightly worried now about his boss’ state. “He won’t be in a good mood tomorrow, and I’ll have to work double.”

Dean, who had just walked by their table with more ale, stopped to fill up their jugs and chuckle.

“Tell me about it,” he commented. “The room at the end of the hallway is empty. You can rest there.”

“Thank you,” Castiel stood up and bumped against the table.

He didn’t really mean to, but his head was a bit dizzy and his feet weren’t moving exactly the way he wanted them to. And it didn’t help that everyone who saw him burst into hysterical laughter either. Castiel smiled awkwardly, waved at them to show he was okay and climbed the stairs as firmly as he could.

Once alone, he stopped to lean on a wall until his head stopped spinning. How did Meg manage to drink all that wine every single night? Then again, she was magical and she had been drinking for a far longer time than him. If she had been there to see him, she’d be laughing at him.

“Oh, you stupid little bluebird,” she would say, passing a hand around his shoulder. “You should leave the heavy drinking for the experts.”

“Well, I might be stupid, but at least I never got into a drinking contest with a fairy,” Castiel answered to her voice in his head.

“What?”

Castiel shook his head. Michael had gone up behind him, and he was looking at him with a frown.

“Nothing,” Castiel assured him. “A private joke.”

Michael didn’t press on the issue, perhaps because he had other things in his mind.

“Cas, why didn’t you tell everyone about the Beast?”

Castiel rubbed his eyes, trying to keep his mind clear and remember the arguments he had presented the others with.

“They already think Father’s insane,” he said. “I’m not entirely sure even Anna and Gabriel believe it. It’s better this way. The truth would be… it would be hard for them to understand…”

“What’s there to understand?” Michael asked. His voice sounded louder, and Castiel had to shake his head and pay attention. His brother was angry, although he couldn’t be sure why. “That Beast took you away from us, she kept you prisoner…!”

“I already told you,” Castiel replied, standing up. He didn’t like what Michael was insinuating, and he was ready to defend Meg from whatever his brother might think of her. “She was kind to me, she…”

“How could she have been kind to you?!” Michael shouted. “She was a monster!”

“No, she wasn’t,” Castiel argued, feeling his face heating up with anger. “She isn’t.”

“Do you really think that?” Michael interrupted him. He took a step towards him so he could analyze his face from up close. Castiel did the same: there was a mixture of confusion and preoccupation in Michael’s face, like Castiel had suddenly started speaking in a completely different language. “Do you really…? And what if she takes someone else?” he suggested. “Would you still say she isn’t a monster that needs to be killed for everyone’s sake?”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Castiel replied. “I know she wouldn’t. She just wants to be left alone in her castle…”

“Is that what she told you?” Michael asked. “And you believe her word?”

“Yes, I do!” Castiel said. He didn’t remember when he had started screaming, but he was and now he couldn’t stop. “Because she is my friend!”

Michael took a step backwards, like Castiel had said something completely horrifying.

“What did I tell you?” a sweet, singing voice interrupted them.

Lady MacLeod was standing on the doorway of her room, looking at the brothers with a crooked eyebrow and a crossbow in her hands. His servant was right behind her, standing very stiff and looking at the brothers with only mild interest.

“His mind is under her spell, for sure,” Lad MacLeod continued. “No one could ever consider that hideous thing a friend.”

Castiel clenched his fists.

“You don’t know her,” he said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, I know her,” Lady MacLeod growled, angrily. “I bet she didn’t tell you about the terrible things she did. Or did she tell you how she ripped my son’s throat when _he_ rejected her? How she left him bleeding out on the ground like a common dog?”

“Your son?” Castiel interrupted her.

The fog in his mind was slowly starting to clear up, but he still connected the dots a couple of seconds too late. Lady MacLeod’s servant moved too fast for him to see: one second he was standing behind his mistress, the next he was grabbing Castiel by the lapels of his shirt and dragging him away towards the room at the end of the hallway. Castiel tried to resist him, punching his arm and trying to kick him, but it was like hitting himself against the wall. The servant threw him inside the room and slammed the door behind him.

The air was knocked out of his lungs, but Castiel barely noticed as he the realization dawned on him.

Rowena. Lady MacLeod was Rowena and she was convincing his brother to…

He staggered to his feet and lunged himself towards the door, but it was locked.

“Thank you, Oskar,” Rowena was saying on the other side.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” Michael was saying. “You were right all along.”

“No need to apologize,” Rowena replied, in a tone of what Castiel had no doubt was false humility. “What’s important now is to help your brother get rid of the Beast’s foul influence…”

“Michael!” Castiel screamed, knocking on the door to make as much noise as he could. “Michael, don’t listen to her! She’s lying!”

“Now, we need to see those jewels,” Rowena said, like she couldn’t even hear him. “The tracking spell will take us to her.”

“Yes, alright,” Michael said. His voice was fading with the sound of steps towards the stairs. “But do you think I can keep some after we’re done…?”

“Michael!” Castiel shouted once more.

He tried pulling the doorknob, but it was no use. He didn’t have any more luck with the window: Rowena had sealed him with magic, and he didn’t know how to break the spell. He sat on the bed, with his face on his hands and feeling like his stomach had been turned upside down.

Meg was in danger. Rowena couldn’t hurt her without cursing herself, but she was going to use Michael to kill her. And he couldn’t warn her, he couldn’t…

Would she think he had sent them her way? Would she think he had betrayed her, like the maiden betrayed the unicorn?

“I couldn’t stand you hating me.”

He started kicking the door and shouting at the top of his lung until his throat started burning. If Rowena had made the room soundproof, if she…

“Castiel?” Anna asked on the other side of the door.

“Anna!” Castiel shouted, refusing to let relief wash over him just yet. “Anna, where’s Michael? Where’s Ro… Lady MacLeod, where is she?”

“Why?” Anna asked, but when it was obvious Castiel didn’t have time to answer to that question, she said: “Michael just left and… Lady MacLeod left right after, she said…” The doorknob turned, but it was no use. “What’s going on? Why did you lock the door?”

“She locked me in here. She’s a witch,” Castiel explained. “Anna, there’s no time. Meg is in danger. Tell Dean to take my cape…”

“Meg?” Anna repeated. “The Beast? What are you talking about?”

“They’re going to kill her!” Castiel shouted, punching the wood with so much strength his knuckles rip and became bloodied. “They’re going to kill her and I didn’t tell her… I never told her…”

He leaned his head against the door, defeated. He could feel the tears building up behind his eyes, his teeth gritted so tight they were about to break.

“Hang on,” Anna said. “I will be right back.”

The few minutes until Anna returned were agony. Castiel kept seeing Meg’s body in front of him, with an arrow in her chest, lying on the ground, wondering if he… if he had…

“Alright,” Anna said. “We’re here.”

“Stand away from the door,” another female voice indicated.

Castiel barely had time to follow her instructions before the wood basically exploded, sending debris and splinters flying all over the room. A woman with olive skin and feathers in her hair was standing on the other side. Castiel recognized her as Ruby, the town’s midwife.

Behind her, there was Anna, Carver, Gabriel and Dean.

“Boy, mom’s not going to like this,” Dean commented.

“Well, if that’s all you dragged me out of bed for…” Ruby said, turning around.

Castiel grabbed her by the arm, perhaps with a little more force than it was necessary.

“No,” he said, feeling the desperation crawling onto him once more. “Wait. My friend’s in danger. Rowena…”

“Rowena?” Ruby repeated, and Castiel thought he detected a tone of hysteria in her voice. “As in, Rowena MacLeod? Oh, well, in that case…”

She struggled to get away from Castiel, but he didn’t let go.

“Please!” he begged. “You have to help me!”

“I don’t have to do a damn thing!” Ruby replied. “Like hell I’m crossing that heartless bitch…”

Castiel opened his mouth to beg once more, but to his surprise, Anna snatched Ruby away from him and practically shoved her against the wall.

“Now, you listen to me,” she said, with a tone that sent shivers down Castiel spine: she had sounded just like their mother. “It was you who put Michael on the heartless bitch’s trail. If my brother gets hurt for this, it’s your scalp I’m going to be ripping off, do you hear me?”

“I don’t think you get what’s going on here,” Ruby replied, although she was clearly intimated by Anna’s fury. “Rowena is an extremely powerful warlord with a very good memory. She’s a lot scarier than you, so no, I’m not risking it.”

“Is she scarier than the Beast?” Castiel asked.

“No one’s scarier than the Beast,” Carver commented.

Ruby apparently thought so too, because she opened her eyes wide while Castiel continued speaking:

“You know she’s real,” he said. “But you don’t know what she’s capable of. And believe me, you don’t want to know. If you don’t help me now, I will make sure _she_ knows why it was. She doesn’t appreciate cowards.”

Ruby gritted her teeth, almost like she was about to call his bluff, but in the end, she decided that risk was even a greater one to take.

“What do you need me to do?”

Castiel explained it to her, and then gave her his cape when she solicited something from the place he was going to. She placed over the bed, and from a dozen hidden pockets in the skirt of her dress, she started extracting herbs and vials of what seemed to be oil. She mixed them while muttering under her breath. Castiel recognized some of the words in fairy language, but they sounded like a corrupt version of the few ones Meg had taught him. Castiel watched her hands moving over the cape, feeling his anxiety and his desperation grow by the second.

Caver put a hand over his shoulder.

“You’re going to go back there?” he asked. He sounded both incredulous and worried, like he too believed that Castiel was under some sort of evil spell.

“I don’t have a choice,” Castiel replied. “They’ll kill her if I don’t warn her.”

“But…”

“Father, she’s not how she think she is,” Castiel said. “And she needs me. I can’t let them hurt her.”

Carver blinked a couple of times. He opened his mouth, and the he closed it again.

“Alright,” he accepted, although he looked sad. “If this is what you have to do…”

Dean and Anna exchanged a look, and Dean nodded like they’d just had another of their wordless conversations.

“I’ll get the horse ready.”

Ruby poured the oil over the cape and stood up.

“It’s done.”

His entire family came to the backyard with him.

“Castiel, please be careful,” Anna said.

“I will be.”

“I’m not entirely sure what’s going on,” Gabriel confessed, also taking a step forwards. “But I think this proves that I’m the smart brother after all.” He stopped in front of Castiel and sighed: “Look, make sure Michael doesn’t do anything stupid to piss off anybody. I don’t want to run fresh out of brothers again.”

“I’ll try,” Castiel said, but he wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep either of those promises if anything happened to Meg.

He jumped on the horse and Ruby handed him the cape.

“Just let it fly and follow it,” she instructed him. “You should be there soon enough.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “Oh, and one last thing: if any harm befalls my sister or her child, I’ll make sure to come back for you. And I won’t be alone.”

Ruby swallowed visibly, but she gave Castiel a curt nod of understanding.

Castiel glanced at his family one last time. The feeling that had invaded him that morning when his father left for his business trip invaded him again. The feeling that nothing would ever be the same afterwards. The feeling that he wouldn’t see any of them again.

But there was no time to think about that. Who knew how much advantaged Rowena and Michael had.

“Goodbye,” he muttered to them all.

Then he threw the cape ahead of the horse.

It flew a few steps ahead of him and then it stopped, suspended in the air. A second later, it floated away and Castiel set on the horse to follow it. Towards the Northern woods again.

 

* * *

 

He wouldn’t remember that ride later on, the same way he didn’t remember walking towards the castle the first time, and perhaps for the same reasons: because Meg’s castle was a magical place that couldn’t be found simply by looking for it. So perhaps he fell into a trance while following his flying cape, or perhaps the concern he felt grew to the point where he stopped feeling the low branches against his face and how hard he was holding onto the reins. He didn’t notice the grey light of dawn slowly growing in the sky or the cold wind that cut through his clothes. He just kept his eyes fixed on the cape until it took a sharp turned and disappeared from view.

Castiel stopped the horse so suddenly he almost falls from it. But he managed to keep his balance and jump down, looking around in desperation.

It took him a second in that weak light, but he finally saw it: the cape was tangled against the black gates of the castle. It was there, like it had never disappeared, like he had left only hours and not weeks ago.

“Oh, thank you,” Castiel muttered, he didn’t know to whom. “Thank you, thank you…”

He grabbed the cape and pushed the gates to get inside…

He was received by buckets of cold water falling on his head and a wind so strong it almost knocked him off his feet. His vision was attacked by a thick curtain of rain, and the clouds in the sky made the morning a lot darker than it was supposed to be. He saw a lightning flashing in the corner of his eye, and the thunder in the distance drowned out his voice:

“Meg!” he called her. “Meg! Stop, please!”

The storm didn’t stop. If anything, it became even stronger: the winds were like a solid wall he had to walk through, and his boots kept sinking on the flooded ground.

“Meg!” Castiel insisted, shouting again. “Meg, please, it’s me! I’m back! I came back!”

The wind stopped at once. The rain took a little longer, but by the time Castiel had managed to reach the castle’s doors, it had become merely a drizzle.

“Meg!” Castiel called her again as he climbed the steps. “Let me in, please!”

The doors burst open and Castiel ran inside at the same time Meg ran down the stairs. She was still wearing the same blue dress she had the night they had danced together. Her mouth was open in disbelief, showing her sharp teeth, and her eyes were wider than he had ever seen them.

“Castiel?” she shouted, as she reached the bottom step. “What are you doing here?”

Castiel jumped the steps and before Meg could keep speaking, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled him closer to him. Relief washed over him like a wave. She was still there. She was alright. He hadn’t come too late.

“Why did you come back?” Meg asked when Castiel let go of her. She didn’t sound angry, just surprised.

Castiel took a deep breath. There would be time for everything he had to tell her later.

“Rowena’s coming,” Castiel told her. “She convinced my brother to kill you. I had to warn you. I couldn’t just…”

“Oh, that manipulative little…” Meg muttered through gritted teeth, and then shook her head. “No matter. I can take them on. You need to get out of here, now.”

“No.”

“Castiel, don’t argue with me on this,” she snapped. “I need to know you’re safe.”

“And I need to know the same thing,” Castiel argued anyway. “Meg, why do you think I came back? I can’t stand the idea of anything happening to you, I… please, let me stay with you,” he begged her. “Let me face this with you.”

Meg opened her mouth, clearly to counter that, but everything around them started shaking. The window’s glasses vibrated violently, and the entire castle seemed to be shrinking in fear. Castiel held on to the stair’s handle to keep balance, but Meg didn’t seem affected at all. She just looked up at the window’s glass, and clicked her tongue.

“They’re here,” she muttered.

Castiel took a deep breath. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach, like all of his insides had been replaced by lead. But he still wasn’t going to run and hide.

“Meg, I’m begging you,” he told to the back of her head. “I can’t just run and hide when I know you’re in danger. Let me fight with you, let me…”

Meg finally turned her gaze at him. Once again, she didn’t seem angry at all, but calm. Every one of her movements as she stretched her hand to place it in Castiel’s cheek was slow and deliberated, like there wasn’t a revenge-ridden witch coming for her. Like they had all the time in the world.

Castiel closed his eyes and leaned into that touch, his lips trembling with the need to graze her scales. How could he not see this before? How blind could he be?

“Bluebird?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“How important is your brother to you?”

“He’s… I would rather he survived this,” Castiel said. It was not the moment to let his anger get the better of him.

“Then I suggest you stall him while Rowena and I settle the score,” Meg instructed him. Castiel opened his eyes and what he was thinking must have been reflected on them, because Meg smirked. “Don’t worry. I can handle her.”

“I have no doubt in my mind you can,” he said. And he was being completely sincere, but Meg still scoffed at him.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Never,” Castiel smiled. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Meg smiled once more. She moved her hand away, but Castiel grabbed it, intertwined his fingers with her and squeezed.

The doors flew off their hinges, and fell flat on the floor with a hollow clatter. Rowena stood over them, her purple cape flying in the wind around her, with Michael and Oskar flanking her.

“Well,” she said, a huge satisfied grin on her face. “Isn’t this lovely?”


	14. Chapter 14

Meg immediately took a step to stand in front of Castiel. He didn’t think it’d make much of a difference. Rowena had already seen them, and she was clever and cruel enough to include Castiel in whatever twisted plan of attack she had.

“Well, you look like crap, Rowie,” Meg said.

“Right back at you,” Rowena replied, apparently unaffected by the jab. “You look worse than that. You look ridiculous. Who are you putting on your old pretty dresses for, huh?”

Meg’s squeeze tightened, and Castiel took a step closer to her, so she would know he was right there.

That apparently angered Michael, who raised the crossbow at them.

“Castiel, get away from her,” he warned him.

“No,” Castiel replied. He positioned himself between them, so Michael couldn’t take a shot at Meg without hurting him.

“See what she’s done to him?” Rowena told Michael. “He’s willing to die for this… abomination.”

“Castiel, last warning,” Michael said. Castiel could his finger shaking in the trigger. He couldn’t know if he was scared by Meg’s presence or just anxious. In any case, he didn’t trust he would keep the weapon firm for as long as he needed.

“You know, I don’t understand why you’re so mad at me. I got the impression you didn’t even like Fergus,” Meg commented. “He was useful to you, yes, but he wasn’t the obedient, devoted son you wanted.”

“How would you know?” Rowena replied. She raised her hands towards her. Small ambers of white power appeared at her fingertips. “But that’s enough chat.”

“I agree.”

Rowena pulled her hands back…

All the window’s glass exploded at once.

Castiel jumped, the deafening shattering still ringing in his ears. The glass shards began to fell, stop mid-air… and then began swirling in a hurricane around the three intruders. Oskar immediately jumped over Rowena to protect her, but Michael wasn’t so lucky. The shards viciously attacked his body, cutting his face, his clothes and his hands. Michael cried in pain and dropped the crossbow. The golden arrow mounted on it came out flying, but Castiel didn’t know where it ended up, because Meg was pulling from his hand. The hurricane of shards opened up so they could pass through it, and they ran towards the still humid grounds.

“No!” they heard Rowena screamed behind them. “I’ll be fine, you airhead! Go behind them!”

“To the lake,” Meg indicated him, between pants.

Castiel followed her while trying to figure a way to stop all of it; or at least, to get Michael away from Rowena. If he could talk to him alone, if he could explain…

They stopped at the edge of the water. The swans and the birds that were normally singing there were nowhere to be seen, probably scared away by the thunders. Castiel noticed all the flowers had drowned in the excess of water, and he wondered how long Meg’s storm had been raging on. The hedges of the maze looked matted down and…

“Meg,” Castiel said, a sudden idea coming to him. “The maze.”

Meg opened her mouth, but they didn’t have time to keep talking. Oskar came running at them, his boots splashing on the ground. It was pretty conspicuous, but then again, Castiel guessed he wasn’t trying to stay hidden. He appeared from behind a tree, a sword in his hand and a hollow gaze in his eyes.

Once again, Meg stepped in front of Castiel and extended an open hand. An invisible force hit Oskar in the chest and sent them flying towards the closest tree. He crashed against the trunk and the branches above him shook, pouring down the water that’d gathered on them right over his head. Oskar howled and when he stumbled to his feet again, Castiel understood why: the right side of his face had melted, and there was nothing but a black small circle where his eye used to be. A thick, brown liquid dripped down his chin, staining his shirt, and his teeth were grit in a grimace of fury.

Both Meg and Castiel stepped backwards in surprise, but Meg suddenly knew what to do.

“Clay,” she muttered.

With a whip of her wrist, she raised the water of the lake in a wall in front of them and then pushed it in a single, inexorable wave that engulfed Oskar. The man screamed once more, a sound of agony and pain that was echoed by a high pitched one.

“Oskar!” Rowena wailed.

The wave crashed at her feet, dragging the empty clothes and a muddy, formless mass with it. The witch looked down with her mouth twisted in a silent scream, and then back up at Meg, her eyes sparkling with fury. A ball of fire appeared between her fingers curved like a claw, and Meg raised her hands again, ready to defend herself…

Castiel heard the click at their left. He didn’t stop to look or think, he just grabbed Meg by the waist and tackled her to the ground. The arrow flew over their heads, and got lost somewhere in the distance, followed by Michael’s yelp of frustration.

“Go to the maze,” Castiel whispered to Meg. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Meg looked at him like she wanted to protest, but in the end she just stood up, picked the dress’ skirt and ran towards the hedges. Rowena threw the ball of fire in her wake, shouting when it got caught and extinguished on the humid branches. She moved to fast for Castiel to see her, or maybe she disappeared like Meg used to do, but in any case, she was out of her reach.

Michael was charging towards the entrance too, and him Castiel could stop.

“No!” he shouted, crashing against his brother with all his strength. Michael almost fell to his feet, but he managed to stay firm.

“Castiel!” he exclaimed, when his younger brother tried to wrestle the weapon away from his hand. “Stop!”

“No!” Castiel repeated.

Somewhere deep in the maze, a lightning rose from the ground towards the sky, blue and terrible, and left the air smelling like ozone and smoke. Michael turned his head, open-mouthed. Castiel used that moment of distraction to kick him in the shin. He pried the crossbow away and stepped backwards, staring at his brother defiantly.

“Have you gone insane?” Michael asked, angrily. “Why are you defending that monster?”

“Because she’s not a monster!” Castiel started but he didn’t have time to finish. “She never was!”

A gust of wind hit them square in the chest, sending them both to the ground. Castiel heard a loud crack as a shooting pain went through his right arm, and the crossbow slipped from his fingers. He tried to get up on the slippery ground and reach for it again, but Rowena appeared right next to it. The golden arrow was on her fingers, and there was an almost manic look in her face as she mounted it again.

“Michael, dear, stand up now” she said, trying to sound calm. But her voice had become shrilling and trembling. “It’s time you held your end of our agreement.”

A violent shiver shook Castiel’s body. He stood up and sprinted towards the maze, his mouth dried with fear. Meg was still alive. She had to be. Otherwise, Rowena wouldn’t have bothered to come back for Michael. But if she had managed to escape, then it meant Meg was hurt or… or…

The maze was covered by a thick white fog that swirl at his feet when he entered and made it impossible to see where he was. He didn’t care. He called her name at the top of her lungs, turning blindly left and right without even paying attention to where he was going.

Meg didn’t answer. Maybe she couldn’t answer or couldn’t hear him or…

Castiel stopped at a dead end, panting. The pain in his arm was becoming unbearable, making him see black spots in his vision. Even if he did find Meg, he didn’t know of how much help he could be for her in that state.

He heard the steps coming behind him, and he turned around swiftly, still decided to put up a fight despite everything. Michael appeared around the corner. He was red-faced and still frowning, but he was pointing the crossbow to the ground, like he wanted to show Castiel he didn’t mean any harm.

“What do you mean she was never a monster?” he asked. He didn’t shout or called him wrong for thinking it. He genuinely wanted to know the answer, but Castiel didn’t have time to explain. Not with Rowena lurking around.

“Please, you have to believe me,” Castiel begged once more. “I’ll explain everything to you, but please. You can’t kill her.”

Michael hesitated, and for a second, Castiel almost dared to hope that he would put down his weapon for good and help him out.

But then Rowena showed up. Her purple cape floated behind her and her eyes were flinched with rage. Still, her voice sounded calm when she said:

“Don’t listen to him, Michael. That’s the spell she put him under speaking.”

“The only who’s trying to manipulate him is you!” Castiel argued. The anger that burnt in his chest gave him strength to stand up straight and looked at the witch directly in the eye. “Michael…”

Rowena snapped her fingers. Michael let out a yelp of pain, and both he and Castiel watched in horror as he started to raise the crossbow again. His movements were slow, mechanical, like a puppet with too short strings.

“I don’t have time for this,” Rowena muttered, almost as if she was talking to herself. “She’ll get out at any moment of the trap I put her in.”

“Stop!” Michael shouted. “This wasn’t part of our agreement!”

The arrow was pointing right at Castiel. He looked around, desperate to find a way, but there wasn’t any, except through the hedges. But he didn’t know if he could move fast enough…

“It’s only fair,” Rowena said. “She took away my victory; I’ll take away her cure. Sorry it had to go like this, Michael, dear. But you should have told your brother to stay in that room.”

Michael’s finger twitched on the trigger. Castiel’s eyes fixated on the golden arrow, paralyzed by terror. But despite that, there was only one thing he could think of.

“Meg…”

The arrow buzzed in the air.

Castiel shouted, not because he had been harm, but because a figure had appeared right between him and the projectile.

“No,” he muttered, stepping towards her to catch her as she stumbled. “No, no, no…”

Meg fell in his good arm without a sound. The arrow was sticking out from her gut, the blood pouring down her dress grotesquely. Her weight bent Castiel’s knees and he was now on the ground, holding her the best he could.

“Meg,” he muttered. “Please, no.”

Meg threw her head back to lean it on Castiel’s neck. Her horns grazed his cheek as she smiled.

“It’s alright,” she assured him. “Everything is fine, bluebird.”

“How can you say that?” Castiel asked, as the horror of what happened, of what was going to happen, settle in his gut. “Meg, you’re hurt.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, looking at the arrow indifferently. “But _she_ did it.”

Rowena staggered backwards.

“No,” she said, her mouth twisted in a grimace of pure fear. “No, I didn’t mean to! It was an accident!”

“Curse you, Rowena MacLeod,” Meg muttered. Her smirk was triumphant, even though her voice was weak from the pain: “I curse you to forever behold what you tried to destroy.”

The earth shook again, and Castiel held Meg tight against his chest. Rowena cried out something, but he couldn’t hear it. He was too busy worrying about how fast the light in Meg’s eyes was disappearing, feeling the already low heat of her body get lower with every drop of blood that dripped on his fingers.

“Where did she go?” Michael asked, looking around. Rowena had disappeared, but Castiel couldn’t care less about it. “I’ll go find her!” Michael said, clearly unnerved, by his brother’s indifference. “I’ll be right back.”

His steps faded in the distance. Castiel sat on his heels, still holding onto Meg. Her chest rose up and down slowly, like every breath she took was a monumental effort.

“You can’t die,” he muttered. The lump in his throat made it hard to speak.

“Everything dies, Castiel,” she said. A pale shadow of her usual smirk crossed her face again. She almost seemed to enjoy arguing with him, even in that moment. “I thought we’d established that. Nothing can keep death away forever.”

“Please,” Castiel repeated. “Not now. I just came back.”

“Yes,” Meg muttered. She raised her hand and put it on his cheek. “And at least I got to see you… one last time.”

Her hand fell, and Castiel caught it in the air.

“No,” he muttered. He buried his face in her hair, feeling the tears burning in his eyes. Her chest had stopped moving, but Castiel refused to think about what that meant. “No. I love you. Meg, I love you. I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want me to, but I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry. Meg, please. Just… answer me. Can you do that?”

The rustle of the wind on the hedges was his only sound.

Meg’s face was expressionless, empty. Her darkened eyes were looking at nothing. She was completely still, in a way that was unnatural even for her.

Delicately, Castiel pressed his lips against her cold forehead and laid her down on the ground. The bloodstain in her dress was a grotesque black circle, with the golden arrow sticking out. Sobbing, Castiel grabbed it and pulled. It didn’t move. He pulled harder, trying to control the tremor of his hands, the tears that blinded him completely. Inch by inch, the arrow slid out, covered in the same black blood that stained Meg’s dress. Castiel stared at it with anger, and then he stood up to leave the maze.

Every one of his steps felt like his feet were made of stone. The pain in his arm was growing, but he barely noticed it. He clutched the golden arrow with all his strength, until the cold metal almost sank in his palm.

He found Michael right outside the entry. He was pale and upon seeing Castiel, he froze.

“Is she…?” he asked, but he clearly didn’t need to finish that question. “Castiel, I’m sorry.”

Castiel didn’t say a word. He just clenched his fist even harder.

“Well, you… you wouldn’t believe what happened to Rowena,” Michael said, pointing behind him.

There was a statue next to the rose bush. It was made of granite and it depicted a woman running, her cape flapping behind her, her arms stretched as she was trying to reach for something. The details of her features and her hair were too painstaking for it to be just a sculpture.

He supposed he should be thankful. He didn’t have used for that damned arrow anymore. He let I fall at the feet of what had been Rowena.

“Brother,” Michael spoke behind him. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t know she would turn against us. I didn’t know…”

Castiel turned around so fast he almost pushed Michael away. The hand he had been trying to put on Castiel’s shoulder remained in the air, disconcerted. Michael blinked at him in perplexity.

“You guided her here,” Castiel accused him. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry when this is all your fault. If you had just listened to me…”

“I’m…” Michael started, but his voice trailed off. He obviously had nothing to respond to Castiel’s anger.

“Go away,” Castiel said. “Leave. I don’t want to see you again.”

“But what are you going to do?” Michael asked.

“I’ll bury her,” Castiel replied, simply. “I’ll mourn her. And I don’t want the person that cause all this to be here for it.”

He stalked away, refusing to look back, refusing to look at the sinister statue or his brother’s hurt expression.

“And what are you going to do after that?” Michael continued asking.

Castiel walked inside the maze without even bothering to answer. Perhaps because he didn’t know. He hadn’t known what to do with himself the first time he had lost Meg, how was he supposed to figure it out now?

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the gates slamming shut. He didn’t know if Michael had left of his own free will or if the castle had chased him away, but he didn’t care.

He was alone.

He walked into the maze again, his gaze fixed on the floor. He squeezed his arms once or twice, because incredibly, the pain helped. It reminded him that he was still alive. That he had to find Meg and take her somewhere she could rest. She had to do that for her.

He walked into the dead end where he had left her… and stopped.

It was empty.

He considered for a second that he had taken a wrong turn (it wasn’t like he was paying attention), but he discarded immediately. The grass was squashed where he had been kneeling, and there were dark spots where Meg’s blood had spilled. This was definitely the place.

But where was she?

“Meg?” he asked. But he knew it was foolish to expect an answer.

Maybe the castle had moved her. Maybe it had taken her inside or to another part of the grounds. Maybe…

There was a crackle behind his back. Castiel turned around just in time to see the skirt of a dress disappearing around the corner.

“Meg!” he called her, still in complete disbelief as he sprinted towards there. Maybe his grieving mind had played a trick on him. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

But then again, when had Meg failed to make impossibility real for him?

He reached the center of the maze, where a single tree stood stretching its brands. He looked around wondering which way he should take when…

“Don’t come any closer.”

Her voice came from behind the thick trunk. Her rough, whispering voice, the voice that had called upon him in the first place.

Castiel had to resist the impulse to both break down sobbing and run towards her at the same time. He took a moment to close his eyes and waited for the word to stop spinning around him.

“You’re alive,” he said. And that was really all that mattered. “You’re… are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Meg clarified. “I’m just… oh, Cas, what did we do?”

She sounded like she was at the edge of tears, and Castiel understood.

“The curse,” he said, opening his eyes wide. “It’s… it’s broken?”

Meg didn’t answer, and that told Castiel everything he needed to know. Even though she hadn’t said it, even though she had acted like she didn’t and sent him away, Meg loved him. The curse had ended because she loved him and because it finally got into his thick skull that he did, too.

“Castiel?” Meg asked. “What…? Why are you laughing?”

Castiel covered his face with his hands.

“Why are you crying?” Meg continued to ask, obviously increasingly frustrated. “Castiel, don’t you understand…?”

“I don’t care!” Castiel exclaimed, unable to contain himself any longer. “I don’t care the curse is broken, Meg. I don’t care if you lost all your powers. I’m just… I’m so happy you’re alive.”

Meg didn’t say a word, but she was clearly not yet ready to come out from behind the tree.

“You were right,” Castiel continued. “When I went back home, I did miss the magic. But I missed _you_ the most. I missed the time we spent together, I missed our talks. I wanted to come back, not because of what you could do for me, but because of you. Because here, with you… everything seems possible. Even without magic.”

Meg still didn’t answer, but Castiel thought he saw a shadow shifting behind the trunk.

“I know you’re scared,” he added. “I know it won’t be easy. But I choose to stay here with you. I choose you, and I’ll keep choosing you every day. And that’s why it doesn’t matter how much time passes: I will still love you…”

“How can you be so sure?” Meg interrupted him.

“I can’t,” Castiel admitted. “But won’t you at least let me try?”

Then, a few hesitant steps over the grass.

The first thing Castiel noticed was her hands. She was clutching the skirt of her dress with the same desperation that he had clutched onto the golden arrow, with so much strength her knuckles had gone white. It still had a bloodstain in her stomach, like a grim reminder of what could have happened.

Her face looked different from the one in the portrait. Rounder, maybe. Her eyes were no longer too big for her face and black, but brown and small. Her cheeks were pink and she was looking at Castiel with a small crease between her eyebrows, like she was expecting something but she didn’t know exactly what.

Castiel remembered to breath and smiled at her.

“Well,” he said. “You… look shorter without the horns.”

Meg let out an offended gasp.

“Shut up.”

But when she strode towards Castiel, she didn’t seem angry at all. Or maybe she was. He would have to relearn to read all of her expressions, but Castiel could spend the rest of his life easily doing that.

He extended his good arm to put it around her shoulders when she hugged him, and sank his face in her hair. It was soft and thick, and it smelled a lot like the herbs on Meg’s garden. Her skin was also softer, and a so warm it surprised him for a moment. Then he remembered she no longer had scales that kept her cool.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Meg said. Her voice was broken with emotion. “I’m… feeling so much. So differently.”

She stepped backwards and stared at his face for a moment, like she wanted to take it with her new senses. She raised a hand, and Castiel immediately offered her his cheek for her to caress. Meg’s fingers were delicate at first, barely grazing his skin. Her thumb moved in small circles, and descended towards his lips. Castiel pressed them against it, and looked at Meg, waiting for an indication that had been alright.

Meg looked fascinated, like she had just discovered something entirely new.

“Meg?” Castiel asked when she didn’t move. Apparently, she still had that reflect of going completely still when something startled.

“I’m… I’m just…” she muttered, and then she shook her head. “Oh, I’m such a cowardly fool.”

Castiel was going to protest against that, but Meg didn’t give him time. She pressed her fingers in the back of his head and pulled him towards her face. Her lips came slow, like they were asking a question she already knew the answer to. Castiel felt like his chest was on fire again, a warm feeling that grew to engulf his throat, his face, his… his injured arm.

He broke away and looked down. He moved his hand up, and he felt no pain when he flexed his elbow or his fingers or turned around his wrist.

“Did you…?” he asked, not entirely sure what he was trying to find out. “Did you do that?”

Meg seemed as surprised as him, but then a mischievous smile appeared on her face. She looked up at the sky, and with a gesture of her hand, she shooed all the black clouds away. In less than a minute, the sun was shining again on a sapphire sky.

“Well,” she chuckled. “What do you know?”

She threw her arms around Castiel again, barely giving him time to hold on to her waist as she twirled around. When Castiel looked again, they were in the dining room instead of the maze, and Meg was laughing out of pure joy. The sound of her laughter hadn’t changed, and Castiel laughed as well for it, he laughed as the ghosts took their position on the dance floor, as the lutanist began a happy, fast melody.

Meg kissed him again, furiously this time, grabbing the back of his head fiercely, biting his lips, almost as if she wanted to make sure that he was really there, that he was solid and real and _hers_. Castiel answered her with the same passion, holding her body tight against his, letting the euphoria he felt wash over him.

And then, they danced.

 

* * *

 

The winter that fell over the town was very similar to the one the year before, but at the same time, it couldn’t have been more different.

Anna thought about it while she embroidered a new cover for the baby and Dean was in the backyard, securing the horses for the night. Emma slept in her crib next to her mother’s chair, sighing and shifting in her covers now and then. She was so small that Anna sometimes was worried that she would break when she picked her up, no matter how many times Mary assured her that wasn’t going to happen. Still, Anna feared for her child every day. She stil remebered the resentment in Ruby's eyes.

But despite that, they were happy. Their house was small, but cozy, strategically placed close enough to the tavern that it’d be a short walk if they ever wanted to see their family, but not too close that Emma would have to deal with drunken miners and passing strangers when she was a little older. They had finished building it just weeks before Emma was born, and despite Dean’s fake humbleness, Anna knew he was excessively proud of it, and madly in love with their daughter. It almost seemed like everyone in town had dropped by to celebrate her birth and congratulate them, but Anna sense there was an underlying reason for it.

“You’ve heard nothing of him?” Rachel had asked her. “You don’t know where he went?”

Anna had shaken her head. There hadn’t been any search parties this time, because they knew it was futile. Well, they knew what Michael had told them, anyway. She didn’t know how much she should trust his story; after all, he had been the one to make a deal with the witch in the first place.

Michael knew they were all angry at him, so he had taken “some money he had” (Anna had no idea where or why he hadn’t share it with them before), he’d paid Ruby what he owed her and some more for her troubles (that was the reason, Anna thought, the witch hadn't tried anything against her family), and then he’d left the town to restart their father’s business. He was doing just fine, apparently. He had returned the week before after a business journey, with a doll for the baby, but he hadn’t walked past the door when he brought it. He had been awkward the whole time, his former arrogance and anger lost. Maybe he wondered if his family would ever be able to forgive him. Anna wondered the same thing.

And as much as he assured her Castiel had been alive when he left that damned castle, Anna would still have liked to have some sort of confirmation for it.

A log in the fire crackled and an ember jumped way too close to the rug. Anna grabbed a poker and pushed back into the fire. In the heartbeat or two that took her to do that, Emma woke up. She found out because of the sweet small sounds she made, like she was laughing instead of crying, as it was usually the case. Anna blinked a couple of times to make sure she was actually awake and seeing this, but it was the truth: Emma had woken up in a good mood for once.

“Oh, tell me what did I do,” Anna said, as she picked her up. “I’ll do it every day.”

Almost as if she wanted to answer, Emma stretched her little arm towards the window.

The snow was falling hard and there was a mean wind blowing. The street was empty, of course. Most people had already gone to their homes or found refuge elsewhere for the storm that was gathering up.

However, when Anna looked closer, she noticed a little bulge on the ledge of the window that hadn’t been there a second before.

Dean walked inside, and closed the door fast, but the flames in the chimney still wavered for a second. He took off the scarf from around his neck, and shivered.

“It’s going to be a bad one,” he commented. “Anna?”

“Did you put that there?” Anna asked, pointing at the package.

Dean looked at it with a frown that perfectly reflected the confusion she felt.

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t there when I finished with the horses.”

Anna passed him the baby and opened the window. The cold bit her fingers but she didn’t care as she pulled the package inside.

“How did it get there?" Dean wondered as Anna took it closer to the fire to have a better look. “No one could have been in the yard without me noticing.”

Anna weighted the mysterious gift in her hand. It was wrapped in a very elegant blue cloth, tied up with a simple bow. It was rectangular and rather small, it couldn’t be bigger than a…

A book.

With her heart pounding in her throat, Anna pulled the bow and opened it.

Inside, there was indeed a book of fairy tales. It looked old, but it was in perfect condition, and when Anna opened it, something impossible fell from its pages: a pressed rose, its petals as blue as the cloth it came in.

“That’s… that's impossible…” Dean said, but he shut up when he noticed his wife was quietly sobbing over the first page of the book. He put Emma back in the crib and leaned closer to hug Anna.

Later, she would tell him she had recognized the handwriting, she would explain how much of a relief it had been to see it. The message was simple, it didn’t have a signature and it wasn’t for her, but of course it could only come from one person.

_To Emma,_

_May you never stop believing in impossibilities._

Anna held on to her husband, happy to know Castiel had found a home as well.


End file.
